Third Time's the Charm
by Not Inclined
Summary: The Dragonborn does his best to help Skyrim. Lydia does her best to help the Dragonborn. Will contain spoilers for Skyrim, Dawnguard, and Dragonborn (DLC).
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Bethesda and its affiliates own the Elder Scrolls series, Skyrim, and everything in them. I own nothing except my main character's actions, thoughts, and motivations, and I am making no profit from this story.

Author's note: This is not a strict retelling of Skyrim. It will be slightly AU in some places, but when this happens, it will not be in an attempt to deviate from Skyrim's canon, but rather to make it more unified within my story. Some headcanon will also be present, but never anything that contradicts established Elder Scrolls lore (that I know of! If I am wrong about something like this, please let me know!). In short, I hope that the spirit of this story is true to Skyrim, even if some details are different.

A short side-note: If I ever write anything in the dragon language, I'll put translations of it at the bottom of the chapter.

* * *

_Stormcloaks_.

Volund crouched behind the snow-covered tree and tried to count the soldiers he saw. It wasn't an army; there were only perhaps 20 of the blue-and-brown clad Nords. Not enough to make a city believe it was under assault, but enough to make a hold's guards think twice before attacking the group. It was just about the right size for an escort. Volund had been about to sneak in the opposite direction, but he stopped and looked into the group to see if any important-looking Stormcloaks were present, or if his guess was off. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

The leader and namesake of the Stormcloaks was an impressive-looking man. His blonde hair was wild and untamed, and his robes extravagant but robust, more Nordic than the clothing many nobles wore. Volund had seen him once before, from a distance, on a visit to Windhelm. It had been before this whole cursed civil war had begun.

Volund's eye caught something else, then; a flash of movement on the other side of the Stormcloaks put them all on high alert as well. No one had to wait long to discover the source. Imperial soldiers burst from the forest, the red cloth and flashing steel capturing the attention of every eye. Volund took the opportunity to make his retreat, turning away from the battle.

"Make a sound and you die, Stormcloak scum." The Imperial captain who had whispered the threat had a sword at Volund's throat. He froze, not daring to proclaim his innocence. "Bassianus, restrain him and prepare the wagons for any more prisoners we might take," the captain ordered.

"Aye, ma'am," a legionnaire said. He grabbed Volund and began roughly tying his wrists. "You'll have a fine view of the death of Ulfric Stormcloak from here, traitor."

Unease about his situation notwithstanding, Volund did eagerly watch to see if Ulfric would be killed. He watched as the main Legion force, hidden behind him, surged forward to trap Ulfric and his men. He watched the Stormcloaks fall, and a few legionnaires as well. He watched, wide-eyed, as Ulfric bellowed out a Shout which threw five Imperial soldiers away from him. He watched as, at last, the hilt of a sword impacted solidly with the back of Ulfric's head. The rebel Jarl collapsed to the ground, and a legionnaire immediately tied and gagged his unconscious form; several hurried to carry him toward the prisoner wagons. A handful of Stormcloaks remained alive, and a few sacrificed themselves in a suicidal attempt to reach Ulfric and free him, but the rest threw down their weapons. All were bound and herded on to the two wagons waiting for them, along with Volund.

The ride was not a cheerful one. Everyone kept silent until, at length, the Stormcloak across from Volund spoke.

"What are you doing here, kinsman?"

Volund expected retribution from the Imperials on and around the wagon, but when none came, he spoke as well.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, you might say. Caught and mistaken for a Stormcloak scout, I suppose." The driver of the wagon scoffed, but did not order silence. Volund continued. "I was walking through the woods when I saw your party. When I turned to go the other way, I was already surrounded by Legion troops."

"A Nord in the woods near Ulfric Stormcloak might be taken as a scout, whether or not he wore Stormcloak colors," the man agreed. "But maybe you are not a true Nord, if you saw Ulfric and wished to avoid him."

"I'm not a Stormcloak, and you're not the true Nords. If you hadn't been stopped, Ulfric would have destroyed the Empire and Skyrim with it."

The other Nord narrowed his eyes, then lunged toward Volund in an attempted headbutt. Volund twisted in his seat, dodging the forehead of the man and kicking at his knee in return. The man fell hard against the side of the wagon, nearly tumbling out over the edge. A horse galloped up, followed shortly by a handful of legionnaires. The man on the horse spoke.

"What's going on here?"

"Just a little chat, old friend. One you and I had, too, if I recall."

"Ralof, you damned traitor! In Ulfric's honor guard! How many of our kin did you have to kill to get that job?"

"They're not kin if they bow to elves, Hadvar."

"I'm through talking to you. Keep quiet and stay in the cart, or I'll have to kill you myself rather than just escorting you to the headsman." Hadvar's face was drawn in anger and, maybe, guilt. He regarded Volund next. "And who are you?"

"My name's Volund, sir, and I'm not a Stormcloak."

He had meant to say more, but was cut off when the legionnaires around them laughed at him. Hadvar didn't crack a smile, however. "We'll see. A change of heart would be pretty convenient right about now, but I've also never heard of a Stormcloak who didn't wear the colors proudly. General Tullius is waiting for us at Helgen. Make your case when we get there."

Hadvar spurred his horse on and rode to the head of the column, leaving the prisoners to glare at each other until they reached Helgen, half an hour later.

It was an impressive place. Half Imperial fort, half Skyrim town, and all a flurry of action as the Legion rode in with the most important prisoner they had captured in decades. The townspeople watched them curiously, but many ducked inside their houses and slammed the doors when they saw Ulfric Stormcloak. The man had regained consciousness on the trip, and now glared at everything and nothing.

Too soon for the prisoners, the wagons stopped. As the Legion carefully surrounded them, the Stormcloaks and Volund were ushered off the carts and toward a makeshift execution site. It had clearly been prepared hastily and just for them, but a block and a headsman were there, and that was all that was needed. The Imperial captain who had first captured Volund grabbed prisoners one by one and pushed them toward Hadvar, who recorded their names and hometowns. Volund had been the first prisoner on to the cart, and so was last in line to have his name, and his head, taken. He began to plead his case to the captain, who pushed him toward Hadvar as if she heard nothing.

"Volund, wasn't it? Where are you from?" Hadvar asked.

"From Dragon Bridge. I'm not a Stormcloak, I'm not a scout, I'm just a wanderer. And my family has served the Legion…"

"Hadvar," the captain yelled, "I hope for your sake that you're not listening to this Stormcloak scum! You've got his name, send him to the block!"

"And captain," another voice, older and tired-sounding, broke in, "I hope for _your_ sake that you're not about to execute a man wearing a Legion Commendation of Valor." The speaker, clearly the general that Hadvar had mentioned, walked up to Volund and grasped the small medal fastened to his collar.

The captain had paled. "N-no sir, General Tullius, sir!"

The general ignored her, reading the medal's inscription. "'For exemplary action in defense of the Empire, Volund Iron-Hand is posthumously awarded this medal of valor.' Well, son, you're not dead, so I'm guessing you're not the one who earned this."

"Sir, Volund is my name and my grandfather's as well. He was a legate under General Jonna's command when their legion assisted the Emperor in retaking the Imperial City. He died defending a breach in his men's shield-wall."

"Well, now, that's something to think about. I'll talk further with you later." The general turned to his troops. "In the meantime, we've got business to attend to. Ulfric Stormcloak!"

The man in question had been ushered to the block and was held by two legionnaires. General Tullius continued talking.

"Some here in Skyrim call you a hero, but a hero doesn't murder his king and kinsman! Your claims for the throne are as empty as your cause, and your actions in Skyrim have done nothing but threaten the Empire's safety and Skyrim's own well-being! You started a war that the Empire is going to end. With your death today, we begin restoring peace and order in Skyrim, and the Empire!" Tullius turned to the executioner. "Do it."

Ulfric was pushed toward the block and unceremoniously forced down onto it while a priest began to intone a standard blessing. She was silenced by a mighty roar.

Helgen shook as a huge black beast landed on the tower above them. The execution momentarily forgotten, each eye watched what could only be a dragon. They were only more surprised when it spoke.

"_Het nok sili dovah. Drun wah Alduin!"_

An instant passed and no one moved. Then the dragon roared again, shouting in rage to the sky. It boiled above them as clouds formed, and stone and fire began to rain on the town. Prisoners, townspeople and legionnaires alike ran for cover or weapons. Volund was still standing beside Hadvar, who dragged him into the shelter of a stone building.

"I trust you, kinsman. You're no Stormcloak," he said as he cut the bindings from Volund's wrists. "And even if I'm wrong, the dragon will likely fix my mistake."

Volund flexed his stiff arms. "We'll see. I don't suppose you have a sword I could borrow?"

* * *

Author's note: Alduin's speech means, roughly, "A dragon's soul lies here. Bring it before Alduin!" I've always assumed that Alduin sensed the soul of a dragon at Helgen, mistakenly believed it to be one of his 'dead' brethren, and came to revive it; he destroys the town when he can't find the dragon, who is actually one of the tiny mortals scampering below him. This explanation is the only one that makes sense to me. At this point, Alduin is still seeking out and reviving dragons, and what OTHER reason could he have for showing up and torching the place? The war is good for him (souls om nom nom), but not critical, plus I highly doubt he cares enough to follow around the Imperials and see what they're up to on a regular enough basis to know that Ulfric is about to be executed.

Criticism about my writing, and corrections on lore or dragon language are welcome. I try to fact-check this stuff beforehand but nobody's perfect!


	2. Chapter 2

Volund pushed open the door to Dragonsreach and stepped inside, pausing for a minute to pull off his iron helmet and adjust to the warm air and brightly lit interior of the Jarl's palace. Outside, night had fallen, and it appeared that the jarl had already retired for the evening, but he was certain that Farengar would appreciate his delivery regardless of the time.

Volund walked slowly up the few steps to reach the main level of the palace. The dragon stone had not been easy to retrieve, and it was not light. In addition, it had now been at least three days since Volund had slept in a proper bed. He had made the trip from Helgen to Whiterun to warn Jarl Balgruuf, from Whiterun to Riverwood and then up a mountain to retrieve the stone, and then back to Whiterun from there to deliver it. He was used to traveling, but this time was different. He was on a schedule, and he had to fight through a small horde of Nords who were supposed to be long dead but _weren't_. His armor was dented and rent, maybe beyond repair, and several times he had desperately swallowed as much of a healing potion as he could before he bled to death or a draugr could finish him off. The dead had crept from alcoves and coffins without warning, and often attacked in groups of five or more. To make it out of such a place alone and alive, he had done well. Farengar was less than impressed, however.

"Ah, the brute returns. Do you have the stone?"

Volund almost slammed his pack down on the table. The wizard was infuriatingly smug. After all he had gone through to get it, however, he didn't want to risk breaking his prize. Instead he sighed and gently removed the stone from the leather bag, placing it in front of Farengar. The court wizard's eyes lit up like a child with a sweetroll.

"The stone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You actually found it! Perhaps you are not quite so worthless as most of you big, blonde, and brainless mercenary types. But now is where your work ends and mine begins; the work of the mind. . ."

"You realize, of course, I'm not a mercenary?" Volund couldn't help but ask, teeth clenched tightly. Farengar's condescending reply was drowned out by the jarl's housecarl, Irileth.

"Farengar!" She ran into the room. "Farengar, you need to come at once! There's been a dragon attack at the western watchtower. You should come, too, Volund."

The young Nord was shocked that Irileth had remembered his name. He had met her only briefly, and most of that time she had held her sword point toward him in defense of the Jarl. He hadn't dealt with many dark elves, but she seemed professional and capable, not to mention serious to a fault. She was not visibly nervous about the possibility of fighting a dragon.

The trio raced up the stairs to the jarl's quarters. Farengar and Volund stopped in the meeting room while Irileth dashed inside to wake the jarl. The two emerged minutes later, Balgruuf wrapped in a simple robe and obviously shaking off sleep. To his credit, he became fully alert and focused when a guard, still out of breath, began to speak.

"My lord, I just ran from the western watchtower. A dragon is attacking it!"

"What's the damage, son? How many men dead? Is the tower destroyed?"

"No, my lord." The guard fumbled for words. "It… the beast hadn't actually attacked yet, it just circled overhead. But I thought for sure it would eat me when I ran to tell you!"

The jarl nodded. "You did well, son. Get some rest, and some mead if you want it." The guard forgotten, Balgruuf turned to his housecarl. "Irileth, I want you to take a detachment of soldiers and go out to the watchtower. Slay the dragon or drive it off if you need to, but I need information most. This isn't a death or glory mission, Irileth."

"Don't worry, my lord. I am the very soul of caution." She bowed, and turned to stride briskly away, already shouting orders to the nearest palace guard.

"I should go, too…" Farengar started, but the jarl cut him off.

"I can't afford to risk both you and Irileth. Stay here. If you can't sleep, work on finding ways to fight these dragons!" Balgruuf sighed, looking tired again. He turned to Volund. "My friend, you've already done much for me and my hold, but you're the only man I know who's ever seen a dragon. I need your help with this."

"Of course, my lord," Volund replied, feeling as tired as Balgruuf looked. The jarl nodded gratefully, then looked at the man's armor.

"I see you've already survived quite a bit in my service, friend. We don't have time to make new armor for you, but some of my brother's steel armor might fit you. I'll send word to the armory to ready it for you." Balgruuf nodded at a guard, who ran off toward the armory.

"Thank you, my lord. It's a great gift, but I'll take any advantage I can before facing a dragon again." The jarl nodded in approval; Volund bowed quickly and ran toward the armory.

It was chaos when he walked in. No fewer than ten guards were trying to get armored and armed. Servants rushed to bring them the next piece of armor or to help them get their chainmail positioned right. Irileth was stringing a longbow of elven craftsmanship. A young woman with her back toward Volund was talking animatedly to Irileth.

"Irileth, let me come along! You know I'm ready!"

"None of us are ready to fight a dragon, girl." Irileth finished with her bow and slung it across her back, turning to look at the girl.

Volund shook his head and turned to begin shrugging off the ruined iron plates of his armor. A servant waited with steel armor that had seen much use but had been lovingly cared for. Volund felt guilty about taking another man's armor, but not so much so that he would fight a dragon without it. The conversation continued behind him.

"I might not come back from this. If I don't, you're the best candidate I can think of to replace me as the Jarl's housecarl. There's no sense risking us both in one day, Lydia."

Volund couldn't hear her reply over the sound of steel plates clanging as they lowered over his head. By the time he could see again, the girl was gone, and Irileth stood impatiently at the door, waiting for him to finish.

"Come on, little one. We need to get out there _now_."

A servant finished securing the rear armor plate in place, and Volund stepped into his boots. "Little one?" he grunted. "I'm a foot taller than you."

"And I've got more than three times your age under my belt, I'd wager. You're fresh. I hope you survive this."

"I've seen more dragons than you. Tonight, _you're _fresh. I hope you survive this." Fully armored at last, Volund grabbed a sword and shield and strode toward the door.

Irileth had an expression that was almost a smile. "Some fight in you after all. I suppose you'll do alright," she said.

They met the guards at the gate, and jogged to the west through the darkness as quickly as armored fighters can. Before long, they could see a glow from the watchtower.

"I guess he isn't just circling," Volund panted as he ran.

Irileth stayed quiet, and the guards did, too. Volund absently wondered if they were more afraid of the dragon or Irileth. The group ran on in silence until they reached what used to be the watchtower. Flames burned in the grass and in the tower's rubble. The top level of the building had been crushed. As they approached, a terrified guard in a scorched uniform crawled out from a hole in some of the bigger rubble.

"Get back," he hissed in a loud whisper, "or hide, or something! He'll see you!" Volund smelled urine as the guard got closer. "There's nothing we can do!" the poor man said. "Kynareth save us! Here he comes again!"

And indeed, huge wingbeats filled the air. It was dark enough that the dragon was visible only as an absence of stars against the sky, but his roars were difficult to miss, and his shape soon was, as well. A blast of fire lit the dragon, the tower, and the ground as he dove toward the group of guards, which scattered just in time.

Volund crouched behind a stone, peering out into the night to find the dragon again. He yelled out what he knew to the guards. "Fire, you've already seen! He's also going to try to pick you up and fly away with you, then drop you. Dodge his talons! He'll also bite for you, watch for the lunges! I don't think arrows are going to hurt him if they hit his scales. Aim for the wings, or the head. Maybe we'll get lucky and hit an eye!"

The guards fired arrow after arrow at the beast, but it gave as good as it got. Three guards fell down screaming as they burned alive, and one was grabbed and dropped just as Volund had seen at Helgen. Irileth, meanwhile, was a marvel, firing shots more than twice as quickly as any other guard. When her quiver was empty, she slung her bow onto her back and began to cast lightning bolts toward the dragon. Its flight was growing more labored, and the lightning revealed quite a few arrows stuck into its wings and scales. One bolt of lightning hit its head, and it shrieked and swerved. Just then, a lucky or skilled arrow from another guard hit it just where the wing connected to the body. The dragon screamed again in rage or pain as it plummeted to the ground.

It landed near one of the guards, and scrambled up in time to run him down and bite him nearly in half. Only five guards, Irileth, and Volund remained. One guard fell to a horrendous blow from the beast's tail, and Volund added that to his ever-growing list of weapons dragons possessed. He and Irileth were on one side of the beast, and the rest of the guards on another. The dragon whirled and breathed flame toward Irileth. She ducked behind a rock, which shielded her from the worst of the heat. Volund took the opening it gave him and rushed toward the dragon's head. He swung a vicious blow with his sword, but the dragon had seen him. It dodged and counter-attacked with a bite; Volund managed to move out of its way, and strike its neck with his sword. Sparks flew as it bounced off a spike on the spine of the dragon. Volund swung again and a thin cut appeared in the scales on the side of its neck, bleeding lazily. The beast roared, then spoke.

"_Mirmulnir los unslaad! Mirmulnir neh dir!"_

"Shut up and die," Volund grunted. The dragon lunged at him, but he braced himself for it. The beast's teeth caught his shield and its mouth was held open. Volund stabbed upward through the roof of its mouth, and it screamed, shuddered, and dropped to the ground, motionless.

Volund stood panting over it, feeling about collapse from exhaustion. The living guards were timidly approaching him and the dragon, waiting to see if it was really dead. Then the night broke.

A rainbow of color erupted like fire from the body of the dragon, and its scales flew outward or fell to the ground. Its flesh boiled and evaporated into the mist which lit the whole area. Volund was deciding whether or not he should run when it all rushed toward him. He gasped, prepared for it to burn, but instead it was only warm. The energy rushed around and through him, and finally it was all drawn into his body. He was left alone and bewildered, no longer tired or bruised. For some reason, his thoughts went back to Bleak Falls Barrow. A wall there looked like it had been mangled by huge claws, but he knew instinctively that it was writing. A word stood out to him, and he had thought it said Fus. He had thought himself crazy, because he didn't know the script nor what the word might mean. But now he knew. Fus was force, power. He felt it.

"FUS!" He had meant to speak, but the word bubbled up inside of him and he shouted at the top of his lungs instead. The dragon's remains, still smoking, looked like they had been hit by a giant. They flew away and shook apart. Volund was stunned.

For a second time, the guards inched back toward him. One had lit a torch from the flames on the tower wreckage. He dared to speak.

"I can't believe it! You're… dragonborn!"

"That can't be," Volund snapped. He had heard of the dragonborn. Every Nord had. Talos and the others, long before him, who shouted down dragons and stole the beasts' power. But there had been no dragons, and no dragonborns, for an age.

"But you are! You absorbed the dragon's power!" Another guard chimed in this time.

"You may… You may be right." Volund couldn't comprehend what was happening.

"Yes, I think I am," the guard insisted. "You can shout now!"

Volund's knees threatened to give out. The prospect was beyond belief. Then Irileth saved him. Whether she had noticed his growing shock and taken pity, or just had enough of the guards' speculation, he wasn't sure, but he could have hugged the stoic elf when she stepped in to bring them all back to earth.

"Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you know nothing about," she snapped. "Here's a dead dragon – that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical dragonborn – someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

Some of the guards began to protest, but she cut them off. "No more. I've seen plenty of outlandish things in every corner of Tamriel, and dragons are bound to have a few quirks of their own. Volund, would you tell the Jarl what happened here? I'm not sure my guards can contain themselves enough to give an accurate report. Besides, we'd better see to the dead." Volund nodded, and began the trip back to Whiterun. He walked at a normal pace, no longer weary in muscle but still ready for this day to be over. It had one final surprise in store for him, however. Before he reached the city, the ground shook and the sky thundered, and a message flew from the top of the Throat of the World to reach every ear in Skyrim.

"_Dovahkiin!"_

* * *

Author's note: Mirmulnir says "Mirmulnir is eternal! He can never die!"

Thanks to those who have taken the time to review this! I feel your pain; the beginning is a lot of describing what we all already know (though I tried to ease that by cutting out Riverwood and Bleak Falls Barrow), but next chapter we get our second main character, and then things should start picking up. I'm excited for this story, and I'll try to update it fairly regularly, and keep things interesting within it.


	3. Chapter 3

Volund shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Jarl Balgruuf launched into a new train of thought in what was quickly becoming a monologue on the wonders of the Greybeards. It would be extremely rude to interrupt or leave while the Jarl was speaking, even though Volund's intentions were to visit the Greybeards just as the Jarl was telling him to – after finally sleeping in a bed for a few hours, that is.

His eyes wandered up to the dragon skull mounted above the Jarl's throne. Volund had always assumed it was a fake, made by magic or a skilled smith, but now he wasn't so sure. It looked remarkably similar to the skull left behind by the dragon at the watchtower. He wondered briefly if the Jarl would have it retrieved and mounted beside the other.

"… pronounce you Thane of Whiterun!" the Jarl said, and Volund's attention was suddenly fixated on the man. "You have my permission to buy property in the hold, naturally, and assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl!" Irileth glanced sharply at the Jarl, but he paid her no mind. "It is almost morning. If you will stay in the city tomorrow, Lydia will be ready to serve you on the day after. I'll notify the guards and other persons of note that you are now a nobleman – wouldn't want them to mistake you for a common mercenary, now would we?"

Volund couldn't help himself. He turned slightly and smirked at Farengar, who was watching from the doorway to his quarters. The wizard stiffened, raised his chin an inch or two, and disappeared into his private rooms. Volund turned back to the Jarl, once again all seriousness. He bowed low.

"It's my honor, Jarl. I will certainly stay in the city for a day. Divines keep you until we meet again." The young Nord left the palace and headed straight for the Bannered Mare, excited about the thought of hot food and soft beds. As the doors to the palace closed behind him, a young dark-haired woman emerged from the direction of the barracks. She looked relieved to see Irileth alive and unharmed, but the dark elf did not return her smile.

* * *

The sun was high enough in the sky when Volund awoke that his first meal was as much lunch as breakfast. The morning was cool but nice, and he was warm enough in his clothing and leather jerkin as he stepped outside, but he still wished he was wearing more. Heavy armor had become a habit for the young traveler, and he felt naked without it. He had returned the Jarl's brother's armor, though he suspected Hrongar would have been happy to let him keep it once he heard the guards' tales of his fight with the dragon. The man seemed in awe of Volund, or at least in awe of The Dragonborn, whoever might have happened to hold the title.

In any case, Volund needed new armor. He remembered a smithy near the town gate, and walked leisurely downhill toward it. Balgruuf had generously rewarded him with gold, though he doubted it was enough to buy a whole suit of armor and new weapons. His calculations of price were suspended, however, when he neared the smithy. An Imperial woman was shooing a Nord in Legion armor out the door.

"Fine, I'll take the job," she was saying, "but don't expect a miracle. No matter how much the Legion needs, there's a limit to how fast I can work."

The man nodded. "The Empire thanks you for whatever you can do, Adrianne." He turned to go, and Volund took his place.

"The Legion needs steel, eh?"

"Yes, and it snows in Winterhold. When _don't_ they need steel? I shouldn't complain, though. All business is good business," the woman said. "I'm Adrianne, by the way. New in town?"

Volund laughed. "You might say that, although I think I'm making an impression." Adrianne looked at him curiously, but he ignored it and continued. "I know my way around a hammer and anvil, and I don't have much to do today. If you have an order that's too big to fill, I'd be happy to help you."

The smith's eyes narrowed. "If you're any good, I certainly have more than enough work. But no one works the forge all day for free. What do you want?"

He shrugged. "Partly I just want to help out Whiterun and the Legion, but I admit I do have another motive. As you can see, I'm not very heavily armed at the moment. If I help you fill your order, how about you let me use your forge and enough raw ore for me to make myself some armor?"

Adrianne snorted. "That's fair enough, depending on how much help you are. Get started making an Imperial blade. I'll be out in a moment to inspect your work."

When the first blade of many was finished, she examined it closely. At length she nodded, satisfied but not unduly impressed.

"This'll do. Where'd you learn to smith?"

Volund chuckled. "Well, I'm no Orc armorer, but my father said any Nord worth the name needed to know how to make a sword and shield for himself. He taught me to work iron and steel. Just don't ask me to make any ebony blades, and I'll do fine."

"No danger of that. Well, then, get to work. Plenty of steel to shape!"

The hammer rang one final time as the last stroke was placed. Volund quenched the sword, watching as steam rolled off the water that boiled instantly when it touched the red-hot blade. The sun was setting, and he and Adrianne had worked constantly, with one small break for supper, since they had started before noon. He was sweaty and covered in soot, and so was Adrianne, but she looked full of energy. No doubt she worked long hours regularly. Volund was more surprised at himself. It had been some time since he had worked a forge but he was barely tired. Adrianne put down her own work and came over to look at his final blade for the day.

"Some fine work here, Volund. I'd say you've earned the right to use my forge, and whatever metal you need. I'll still be making weapons for the Legion tomorrow, however. I'm not sure when I'll be finished with the job."

He considered for a moment. "Actually, do you mind if I work on it tonight?"

The Imperial was visibly taken aback, but responded calmly, "That's fine with me, if you're up to it. And here I thought _I_ was crazy… No matter. The ore is in crates near the smelter. Use whatever you wish."

"Thanks, Adrianne." He lost no time in cracking open the crates of iron and corundum.

Before dawn, he had finished making simple yet strong steel armor. He donned the individual plates, finally feeling dressed. A new sword hung at his hip, and a shield swung from his left arm. The only piece with any adornment or design was the shield. On its flat steel surface, embossed in quicksilver, was the skull of a dragon. Volund laughed at himself as he held it up to the light of the forge, angling it so that the reflection of the flames made it look like the dragon was breathing fire. This would do. He trudged up the hill, finally tired and ready to return to his room at the Bannered Mare.

* * *

Despite his lack of sleep, Volund was awake again by mid-morning. He put on his new armor and slung his sword and shield across his back, then paid for breakfast out of the Jarl's reward money and rushed out of the inn. On the way to the palace, he stopped briefly at the shrine to Talos. The raving priest he had seen on other days was absent, and Volund took a moment to touch the shrine lightly and offer a quick prayer to the Divine who looked favorably on quests and the endeavors of men. He lingered for a moment, then turned and bounded lightly up the stairs to the palace, eager to meet his housecarl and be on his way.

Balgruuf had evidently kept his promise to inform his guards of Volund's new status. The guards at Dragonsreach had opened the door to the palace for him by the time he reached it. When he was a commoner, they hadn't bothered. One of the men stammered out a greeting as he passed. The other was silent, perhaps staring at Volund's shield. Then he was inside, and away from the hero worship and the awe they held for the alleged dragonborn.

He had only walked a few steps forward when he saw an attractive young woman sitting on the steps to the higher level of Dragonsreach. She seemed to see him at the same moment, and rose quickly, brushing off any dirt that the steps might have left on her clothing. The woman's hair was dark enough that he suspected she might have some Imperial ancestry, but she was clearly every inch a Nord. She was only a handbreadth shorter than Volund's six-foot, four-inch frame, and she had the fair complexion that all Nords shared.

She approached him, hesitated briefly, and then spoke.

"Pardon me, my lord, but are you…" she broke off. "Are you the Dragonborn?"

Her expression was earnest enough to kill the joke that had sprung to Volund's mind. Instead he answered simply.

"They seem to think so. At any rate, my name is Volund."

The woman looked relieved for a brief moment before regaining control of her passive expression. She bowed deeply before him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my thane. I am Lydia. Jarl Balgruuf has assigned me to be your personal housecarl."

"The pleasure's all mine, Lydia. I have to admit, I've never been a thane before. What exactly are your duties?"

She blinked once and then smiled shyly at his small attempt at humor. "As your housecarl, I'm sworn to your service, my thane. I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life, and perform any other duties you require of me."

"Sworn to my service?" he asked. "You've taken oaths?"

She nodded. "Yes, my thane." When she did not elaborate, he persisted.

"To whom?"

"Some to the Jarl, some to the Divines. Most to you. Many of them are magical in nature, and rather binding. Administering them is one of the few times that smug milk-drinker Farengar earns his keep around here." Her eyes widened suddenly. "I'm sorry, my thane! I never meant… I should not have expressed my opinion…"

She could not complete her apology over the noise of Volund's laughter.

"Lydia, I think you and I are going to get along just fine."


	4. Chapter 4

Volund led the way down the steps from the palace. When they had passed out of earshot of the guards, Lydia spoke.

"My Thane, may I serve you best by keeping my silence unless spoken to, or by offering my help when I can? I would not presume to ask, except that you seemed pleased when I spoke out in the palace."

Volund stopped walking and turned to face her. "Why would you not speak when you wished?"

"Many nobles who have housecarls wish them to simply be silent and serve, my Thane."

Volund grunted derisively. "Speak any time you wish, about whatever you wish. You don't need to be so formal, either. I don't always need to be 'my thane'-ed. Just call me Volund if you need anything."

Lydia's eyes widened and she spoke almost in a whisper. "My Thane, it would be _most_ improper for me to address you by name." She paused. "At least, in public." Her cheeks grew slightly rosier, but a cold wind was blowing and Volund assumed it to be the cause.

"Well, then, do whatever is proper in front of the nobles and such, but feel free to be yourself around me." He started walking again, and she hurried to catch up to him.

"Let me just say, then, my thane, that I'm pleased to serve you. I wasn't quite sure what I might be getting into. Being a housecarl is always an honor, but not always a pleasure."

"I can imagine, if most aren't even allowed to talk," he said, stepping around the wilting Gildergreen tree. "How do they get volunteers for the job? What made you want to do it?"

She hesitated a moment.

"Some become housecarls under orders, my thane, and not as volunteers. But most recognize the honor that it is and the duty that they owe, and enter their service willingly. Each of Skyrim's holds owes much to their Jarl, and it is not too much to ask for one person to lay aside their desires in life in order to bolster their ruler's safety and happiness."

"And what about thanes? They don't rule the hold."

"Most thanes are not given housecarls, either, my thane. Only those who have truly and greatly served their hold are given the honor. You, for instance, likely saved the lives of everyone in Whiterun, my thane. You are owed much for that. And even if you hadn't, you are the Dragonborn." Her eyes sparkled and she smiled softly. "Skyrim owes you much more than the service of a girl from Whiterun. I suspect that when you come to the attention of the other Jarls, they will be tripping over themselves to provide you with rewards and desirable housecarls."

Volund only shook his head. The pair had made it to the marketplace outside the Bannered Mare, and he stopped to examine some food in one of the stalls.

"I don't want rewards I haven't earned," he grumbled as he looked over the wares. "And I am entirely satisfied with you as my housecarl." Lydia's blush was unmistakable this time, but Volund was too preoccupied to notice it.

"I'm honored, my thane," she stammered. "I… I could not ask for a better thane to serve."

He laughed. "You don't even know me, Lydia!"

"I know that you're kind and respectful to me, my thane. That alone means a great deal."

Volund set the food that he had selected onto the market stall, paid for it quickly, and began to place it into his pack.

"My thane, allow me to carry that for you…" Volund shook his head and shouldered the pack himself. Lydia drew back.

"Lydia, did you _want_ to be a housecarl?" he asked suddenly.

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, it was slowly.

"I don't know, my thane. It was the highest position I could aspire to growing up, and of course I owe Irileth everything. When I was little, I certainly wanted to be exactly like her. Then as I got older, I realized that if I would be a housecarl like her, it would likely have been for the Jarl in the event of her death. She's not nearly old enough to die of old age, and I've never seen her lose a fight, so I never really expected to become a housecarl. I certainly never expected the Dragonborn to appear and save our city!"

"Why do you owe everything to Irileth?" Volund had noticed some relationship between the women, but nothing that would have made him suspect this. The pair began to walk again, slowly, toward the city gates.

"She raised me, my thane – she and some of the other guards. Irileth did the most, though. I was orphaned as a baby, and Irileth found me. She took me in, trained me to fight. When I showed promise as a fighter and it became clear that I would be at least…" she squirmed, "… somewhat attractive, Irileth began to train me as a housecarl – I think to be a replacement for her just in case anything ever happened. She started to become more distant then, though she had never exactly been warm and gushing."

Volund laughed. "No, I don't suppose she would be. I'm surprised to hear that Irileth cared whether you were attractive or not. She seems all business to me."

Lydia seemed taken aback. "Well, my thane, of course she didn't _personally_ care, but obviously the more attractive a woman is the more desirable she is to the jarls and thanes as a housecarl."

"I suppose that makes some sense. It doesn't hurt to have the prettiest woman in Whiterun at my beck and call." Before Lydia could answer, Volund had spotted Adrianne, who was almost finished with yet another Imperial sword, and called out to her. "Adrianne! Have you got a moment? I need a bow, the strongest one you've got."

"Give me just a moment to finish here. I think I have something that will be worth the wait." After she quenched the finished blade, the busy smith wiped her hands on the cloth beneath her leather apron and disappeared into the shop. When she emerged again, she was carrying an ugly-looking bow made of orichalcum.

"I can't claim to have made this," she said. "An orc passed through town a year or two ago. He was desperate enough for coin to sell this to me. It's a fine weapon, obviously orcish craftsmanship." She paused, noticing the armor that Volund had made. "You did some quality craftsmanship of your own on that armor. Still, I'd wager this bow could put an arrow through it."

"I'm insulted," he said, feigning anger for a moment before letting out a quick laugh. "But I'll take it." He counted out most of the remaining money the jarl had given him. Adrianne gave him a simple leather quiver and a dozen steel arrows free of charge.

"Least I can do for a good customer _and _a good worker," she muttered. Volund thanked her and put the weapons on his back. To make room for them alongside his pack and sword, he had to remove the shield which had hung there and sling it on his arm, ready to be used.

The guards opened the city gates for the new thane as he and his housecarl approached them. Lydia's former train of thought had been interrupted by Adrianne's comments, and when they were out of the city and far enough away from the city guards to speak without being heard, she spoke up again.

"Did Adrianne say – did you really make that armor yourself?" She missed a beat and then hastily added, "My thane!"

"I did make it myself. My old armor had seen too much action to be useful anymore. I had done a good bit of work for Adrianne yesterday, and she agreed to let me use her equipment to make new armor."

Lydia's face shifted rapidly between indignation and awe. She settled on indignation first.

"My thane, you should not have had to work for a common blacksmith! Surely the jarl would have provided you with armor…" Her brow cleared after a moment. "Perhaps you trust your own handiwork more than another smith's?"

Volund smiled at that. "No, not at all. I simply don't wish to be a burden on the hold. The jarl probably would have given me armor had I asked, but that money can be put to better use elsewhere. Besides, there's something satisfying about using your own handiwork – my father's words, but they seem true enough."

"I couldn't say, my thane. I know how to maintain armor and blades, but not how to make them. Was your father a smith, then?"

"Smithing was his hobby, but it did go hand-in-hand with his trade. The old man was a mercenary – not some lowlife bandit who thinks 'mercenary' sounds better than 'murderer,' though. He made all his own gear and he did honest work, mostly guarding travelers or clearing roads of beasts. I think he was always trying to do something heroic to catch up to his own father. Granddad fought in the Great War, died retaking the Imperial City in fact. My old man was only 16 at the time, so he couldn't fight in the army. Missed the war by just a few years. He had been an errand-runner for granddad's legion, but he came home to Dragon Bridge after granddad died. Then he fell in love with a barmaid from Solitude, made me, and married her before it was obvious to everyone else that she was pregnant. She died when I was born – no healers in Dragon Bridge at the time, I guess.

"Dad did right by me. Taught me to fight and hunt, how to work a forge, how to survive Skyrim's weather and land. That was all when he was home, of course. Most of the time he was away on a job, trying to make money to support us, so a lot of the time I was on my own. Then he died about five years ago, so I was really on my own, but I was 18 by then and looking for my own path anyway. I had been working as a smith for my father and some of the others in Dragon Bridge, but without the old man I didn't really have anything to tie me to the town, so I started wandering Skyrim. I took odd jobs or sold weapons I got from bandits who attacked me. Then the other day I became the Dragonborn and a nobleman. Funny how life goes sometimes."

Lydia nodded absently, still processing the story. "I'm sorry for your losses, my thane. How did your father die, if I may ask?"

"Frost trolls. He took a job escorting a merchant caravan through Labyrinthian; they were trying to get to Whiterun before the really cold weather hit, but it got colder faster than they thought, and the trolls were out and active. A couple of the men escaped and ran all the way back to Dragon Bridge. Said my dad had killed a few trolls before he died, so at least I know he got a good death. It's long enough ago that I've come to terms with him being gone."

He turned to face Lydia with a mischievous grin, his somber mood from a few seconds earlier utterly gone.

"You might have a hard job as my housecarl. Seems my family has a tradition of dying in battle, and I'd hate to disappoint them."


	5. Chapter 5

"You have got to – oof – be joking. FUS RO!" The shout echoed painfully through the chamber, blasting one of the attacking draugr back into a corner. "For a pacifist monk, this Jurgen Windcaller has a pretty aggressive tomb!"

Volund raised his shield to deflect the blow of another draugr, then swung his sword quickly into the abomination's arm, breaking it, and whipped the blade around in a circle which ended when the sword impacted the draugr's head. It fell to the ground, twitching, and Volund raised his shield again to approach the draugr he had previously shouted at, which had now recovered.

Lydia, meanwhile, was backing slowly toward Volund under a hail of blows from a draugr with an elaborate horned helmet. The thing laughed as it pressed forward, sending showers of sparks or tiny chips of wood flying from Lydia's shield with each sword strike. Her counterattack impacted harmlessly on the draugr's own shield, and she had to spin quickly and dive away to avoid a brutal attack in response. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as possible, raising her shield, but the draugr seemed to be taunting rather than attacking. It pointed at her and spoke in a rasping growl.

"_Qiilaan us dilon, daanik kendov!"_

A splash came from behind the beast that sounded like a body falling into water.

"WULD!"

Volund appeared out of nowhere, moving impossibly fast with his sword held horizontally. The blade hit the draugr in the neck with all of the Dragonborn's speed, and the undead warrior crumpled into a heap. The sword stuck in the draugr, however, and Volund couldn't hold on to it. Off balance, he dropped to his knees and skidded to a halt, inches from a plunge into a pool of water. He rose up, a little unsteady, and grinned at Lydia.

"I bet the Greybeards never did _that_!"

Volund and Lydia had climbed the 7000 steps – a daunting task in heavy armor, to say the least – and presented themselves to the Greybeards who had called for the Dragonborn. Rather than giving them any urgent mission, however, the old monks seemed more interested in simply talking to and training the Dragonborn. Volund had happily accepted the chance to learn more, and Lydia had happily accepted the chance to wait outside while five Nords enthusiastically shouted at each other hard enough to shake the foundations of High Hrothgar.

When Volund had finally emerged, it was with a half-smile that he couldn't seem to get rid of, and a small mission after all. The Greybeards wished to test his abilities, and he had to retrieve a horn from the tomb of their founder to prove himself.

Of course, it hadn't been so simple as opening a coffin. The tomb was massive enough to contain a small forest, which was actually quite beautiful, and countless undead Nords, which were not. Deep within it was also some sort of scratched monument that Volund had examined intensely. They had then fought on to the final chamber, which Volund had just cleared with his dramatic intervention.

"No, my thane, the Greybeards probably never did anything like that."

Volund went for his lost sword, but Lydia beat him to it, bracing a boot on the draugr's body and wrenching the weapon free. She spun it expertly in her hand so that the hilt faced Volund. He took it and sheathed it, nodding his thanks.

"Still 'my thane,' eh? I don't think the draugr will be offended by impropriety, especially now that they're dead. Again." He kicked one for effect.

"I'm sorry, my…" she bit her lip, then sighed. "The training to be a housecarl is _very_ clear on this point. But I'll try to be less formal if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me, I just want you to feel comfortable dealing with me. Whatever my title is, I'm not some privileged lord who needs to have his ego stroked."

"I appreciate it, my thane, but with all due respect, having rules and instructions to fall back on is sometimes a relief. I'm new to this, after all."

She fell into step behind him as Volund walked to the enormous sarcophagus that the draugr had been guarding. It was an eerie thing, sculpted as if the hand of the man within had broken through the cover. It held a horn tightly in its grip.

"I guess I can understand that. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty, my thane."

He whistled low in disbelief.

"Twenty years old, and they threw you to the wolves – or rather, to the dragons." He began to try to extricate the horn from the stone fist without damaging it. "You must have been pretty good in a fight."

"Irileth was satisfied with my – here, my thane, maybe if you pushed the other side of it? – with my fighting skills when I trained with her. I actually never had a true fight to the death before joining you."

The horn slid loose suddenly and Volund fumbled it for a split second before getting a solid grip on it. He turned to face Lydia again.

"You had never actually fought anything before this week?"

Her shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. "I trained all my life with guards and housecarls. Inexperienced does not mean unskilled, my thane."

"Apparently not! You barely reacted when you saw your first draugr, except to kill it. I'm impressed." Her posture returned to normal as he spoke.

"Thank you, my thane. It's true that there were certainly more experienced, even more skilled, warriors in Whiterun than me, but there are, of course, other considerations when selecting a housecarl…" she trailed off and looked at her feet.

"Right, good looks. Well, lucky for me I got a housecarl who has looks _and_ skill. A-HA!" he rushed toward the wall behind the tomb.

Lydia hurried to catch up, worry and interest crowding out the conversation. "My thane, what is it?"

Volund didn't answer, but instead pulled and turned an almost hidden mechanism. The wall rumbled and a large section of it suddenly dropped into a slot in the floor. Dust flew in lazy circles out of the newly revealed passageway, and a large chest was dimly visible in the shadows within. Lydia grabbed a torch off the wall and reached for the flint and tinder that she kept in her pack.

"Here, allow me," Volund said. He took the torch in one hand and held its end over his other hand. A small flame began to rise from his palm, and the torch soon caught fire. Lydia breathed in sharply.

"You're a mage, too, my thane?"

He shook his head slowly as he handed the burning torch back to her.

"Not at all. My father made some friends in his mercenary work, and one of them was a mage from Solitude who sometimes joined him for jobs. The old man taught him a little about using a dagger in a pinch, and the mage taught him a few spells that would be useful to a mercenary – making a fire quickly and without tools, and a very basic healing spell. He passed them on to me before he died. I've never tried to actually use either in a fight, although they certainly come in handy from time to time."

"I can see that they would, my thane." She paused, in thought. The torch flickered. "Could you teach me the spells?"

"I'd be happy to try. How about this: tonight when we make camp, I'll teach you how to make the fire with magic, and we'll see how it goes."

"I'd like that, my thane."

"Then it's settled! But for now, let's crack open this chest."

While Lydia held the torch, Volund knelt in front of the massive, ancient chest. He pulled on the lid, but it was locked or stuck in place. He reached into his pack, rummaging for a lockpick, then thought better of it. With the hilt of his sword, he tapped the chest all around the lock, and gave a satisfied nod. Lydia watched as he stood and with one swift motion, put his book heel through the chest where the lock had been. He wrenched the lid upward. When Lydia brought the torch in close, they both were silent for a moment. The chest contained eight gold ingots and more than a few jewels that caught and scattered the torchlight. It was Lydia who regained her tongue first.

"You know, my thane, I _am_ sworn to carry your burdens…"

* * *

Author's note: The draugr's dialogue is a combination of two lines they actually say, and it means "Bow before the dead, doomed warrior!" Also, I know it's done for gameplay purposes, but it makes no sense to find Septims (or drinkable potions, for that matter) in ruins which predate the Empire. Luckily for our heroes, plain old gold never goes out of style.


	6. Chapter 6

Volund let his pack thud heavily against the ground with a relieved sigh, then more gently laid his sword, shield, bow, and quiver down beside it. He and Lydia had divided the gold evenly between their packs, but even half was enough to strain the straps on the sturdy bags, not to mention the muscles of the one carrying it. Lydia's gear, minus a small hatchet, was resting on the ground already at the site they had chosen as campground for the night. Axe in hand, the housecarl was gathering and cutting firewood. Volund busied himself finding makeshift seats; a short piece of what was once either a very thick branch or a thin tree served nicely as one, and a large, flat rock not far away looked ideal for another. On closer inspection, however, the rock was bigger than Volund had thought. Nevertheless, he carried it over to his chosen site with no small amount of strain. He considering heavily just Shouting at the thing and hoping it went where he wanted, but resisted the temptation. When both seats were in place, he began to clear an area for a fire and line it with small stones.

Lydia returned with enough firewood for the night not long after he had finished his task, and the two of them worked together in companionable silence arranging the first of the branches into the right shape to catch fire easily.

They had camped out several nights already in their travels. Although Lydia had been almost scandalized the first time Volund had informed her that regardless of what other jarls and thanes did, he intended to do his share of the work, by now an efficient division of the necessary tasks had become almost habit.

With everything done except to start the fire, Volund sat down on his rock. Lydia, ignoring the other 'seat,' knelt beside him, watching him attentively.

"Ok, where to start," Volund mused. "How much do you already know about magic, in general?"

"Almost nothing, my thane. Irileth can use a little, and certainly doesn't fear or hate it like many do, but she also never attempted to teach me about it. Maybe she's given up trying to convince Nords that magic is acceptable. Other than her, the only mage I've ever known is Farengar, and I'm sure he fancies himself much too important to teach anyone else anything."

Volund smiled. "No doubt. Well, then, I'll tell you what I know, which is only the basics. There are five schools of magic – destruction, restoration, alteration, illusion, and conjuration. They're divided up not just because each produces different results, but also because each requires a different skill set and a different way of thinking to successfully cast spells. Destruction creates and directs natural forces. Restoration is the art of returning something to its natural state. Alteration makes permanent changes in reality, while illusion makes people _think_ that reality has changed. Conjuration is concerned with calling, or blocking, intruders from other realities. I know almost nothing about that school," he admitted.

Lydia nodded, following the basic explanations easily and privately feeling relief that Volund was in no way associated with conjurers. Open as she was to magic, daedra and the undead seemed better to avoid. Volund resumed speaking without pause, however, and she listened carefully.

"Although each school is performed with a different process and a different goal, one thing is always true. The more you know about what you're trying to accomplish, the easier it will be to do. For instance, the more intimately acquainted with fire you are, the easier it will be to cast a fire spell. Making fires, knowing how they burn different substances and what substances resist burning, knowing the type of ashes a fire will leave behind when it burns out, knowing how hot a flame is by its color, and how it reacts to air and wind, and many other factors all contribute to knowing how to cast a fire spell. If you don't know all these things, you can still cast a fire spell, but it will drain your magicka much more quickly. I _think_ that's because a lot of it is wasted. If you know every detail of what you're making, you can focus your mind more sharply and direct your magicka more precisely; otherwise, your mind's eye sees only vague shapes and blurry images, and you have to spread your magicka across all the unknown possibilities."

"That's why healers want to study dead bodies," Lydia said suddenly. "I'm sorry, my thane, please continue. I just had always wondered about that."

"That's right," he said, undisturbed. "A dead person can't be healed, of course, but it's easier to study, and the more familiar one is with bodies, how they work, and what they are made of, the easier it is to heal a living one. It's also much easier to heal yourself than it is to heal another person, because you always know your own body, but another person is unfamiliar." He paused for a moment in thought. "I hear that it's also much easier for a Nord to heal another Nord than it is to heal an Argonian, for instance. It all comes down to familiarity. I heard a story once about a master smith who couldn't cast a spell if his life depended on it, except for one: he knew ore and metal so well that he could change iron into gold or ebony when he wanted to. I don't know if it's true or not, but it's a good illustration."

Lydia nodded again.

"Well, enough talking. Let's try to cast a fire spell. It's all in how you approach it, how you think about it. Close your eyes, and just think about fire for a minute." Lydia squeezed her eyes tight shut. "Got it?" She nodded. "Open your eyes, and cup your hand a little. Think about that fire appearing in your hand. Will it to happen, want it to happen, believe it will happen. Visualize the fire being pushed out of your mind's eye, out of your imagination, and into your hand..." he broke off when a small flicker of fire, barely visible, flashed for a second in Lydia's fingers.

She had seen it, too; she jumped, and shook her hand as if it were still on fire. Volund laughed.

"It won't hurt you; it will do exactly what you want it to do. It was a great start; try again and this time, when you get it, think about pushing it even further out, onto the logs here."

Lydia's brow furrowed in concentration. She closed her eyes, flexed her hand, opened her eyes, and a flicker of flame appeared again. It moved forward slowly in a large cone, eventually reaching the logs in the freshly made fire pit. Lydia held it on the logs for a few seconds before it sputtered and died, and she gasped. It had been enough; one of the logs had caught fire, and the small flame was slowly spreading to the rest of the wood.

Lydia inhaled and exhaled heavily.

"I couldn't do any more, my thane. It feels like…" she hesitated. "It feels like I'm tired, but… in muscles I don't have. Does that make any sense?"

Volund nodded. "That's exactly how I would describe it – and it's totally normal. That's your sense of your own magicka. If it feels exhausted and you can't cast spells anymore, it means you've run out of magical energy. You probably don't have very much stamina for spellcasting, because you've never done it. In some ways, it _is_ like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets and the longer you can go without tiring. Just practice your spell when you have time to yourself, and you'll get stronger at it. I'm impressed, though. You got the hang of it faster than I did. The spell will be stronger if you focus it into a smaller stream rather than a big cone, and your endurance needs work, but you did a great job. You've officially used magic now!"

A smile slowly grew on Lydia's face as she listened to Volund's praise and watched the fire she had made without tools or torches.

"Thank you, my thane," was all she could say. Volund nodded in return.

The travelers pulled a light supper from their bags and ate it quickly. Although the fire burned brightly, it was now solidly night-time. Lydia's face still beamed with pride, but changed quickly when a yawn attacked her.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Volund asked. Lydia nodded, slightly red-faced. Volund stood and stretched. "Get some rest, Lydia. I'll take the first watch; I'm not very tired anyway."

Gratefulness and obedience won out over her sense of outrage that her thane should be deprived of sleep, and Lydia unrolled her small sleeping roll, shed the metal parts of her armor, and crawled inside the makeshift bed. Volund stood with his back to the fire and to her, scanning the landscape around them.

Lydia opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again after a moment. She shook her head, and closed her eyes, images of the watchful Dragonborn still in her mind nevertheless. Within minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

Author's note: Does anyone else feel like it's harder to find time to write on weekends than during the work week? Another short chapter today for that reason, but don't worry; Skyrim has a lot in store for the reluctant Dragonborn and his housecarl in the near future! I'd also like to thank fellow author Valerianus for being a gracious sounding board for some upcoming story ideas. It's a big help!


	7. Chapter 7

The sky was gone when Lydia woke up. In its place was a heavy fog, covering the swamps and the hills of Hjaalmarch. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, then stretched, rolling her neck and feeling it crack satisfyingly as she did so. She sat up and looked around. Though the sun was not visible through the mists, it was clearly no longer night. Elk bugled forlornly in the woods around them, but the animals might as well have been invisible in this weather.

A soft step in the forest behind her made Lydia whirl around, startled. Volund was walking toward her, his face calm and his metal armor – still on his body – covered in small drops of dew. He nodded good morning to her, and she sighed.

Standing, she began to put on the armor pieces she had removed last night, but did not let that stop her from admonishing Volund.

"My thane, did you sleep at all?"

"No."

Lydia made an expression that was as close to a glare as Volund had ever seen her give.

"You should have woken me at midnight, at least, my thane."

"Wasn't tired," he said bemusedly. "Ever since the dragon, I don't sleep much."

Lydia stopped in the middle of buckling on a large piece of steel. "Is something wrong, my thane? Do you dream, or…" she stopped as he waved away her concern.

"Nothing's wrong. It's not dreams, it's not anything. At least, it's nothing bad. I feel fine – great, in fact. Better than ever." He knelt and helped Lydia ready her gear, despite a disapproving noise from her. She noticed in the process of rolling up her bedding that an extra blanket had been draped over her during the night. When she mentioned it, Volund coughed.

"We ran out of wood for the fire, and I didn't want to go cut more and leave the camp unattended. Then it started to get cold and misty, so I thought you might appreciate a little extra warmth.

Lydia got a dazed sort of smile on her face, and gave a light laugh.

"We'd better not tell anyone the Dragonborn is so thoughtful – it might ruin your image with the guards. But," she added, "thank you, my thane."

Volund let out an over-emphasized grunt. "Tell 'em whatever you want – my reputation's safe. If killing a dragon in front of them isn't enough, I'll just have to show them this!" He struck an exaggerated, manly pose.

His housecarl was stoic at first, but when Volund continued to hold the pose and began to waggle his eyebrows at an imaginary guard, she let out a small snort, then bent at the waist and began to make a noise that sounded distinctly like giggling. Volund let his arms drop and laughed as well.

When the two had recovered, they dismantled what little remained of their camp and heaved their packs onto their shoulders once more, to begin the trip back to High Hrothgar. Volund, however, had one last word on the matter.

"We'd better not tell the guards that you giggle, either. They might start to realize there's a woman under all that armor."

Lydia blushed. "I didn't _giggle_, my thane. It was more like chuckling."

"It was giggling, Lydia. It was pretty, it was girly, and it was giggling."

She sighed heavily in defeat. "If you say so, my thane."

"I do say so. You know, that reminds me of something. I've never heard what your birth sign is. I almost suspected you of having the Mage sign last night with how fast you picked up that fire spell, but people with the Mage sign are usually arrogant – and they _never_ giggle."

Lydia groaned. "I'd rather not say, my thane."

"Why not? It's nothing to be embarrassed about; you don't control when you were born. What's so bad about your sign?"

"My sign is the Lover," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"The Lover? Graceful, passionate. I can definitely see it now that you mention it. What's so bad about that? I know women who would kill to be able to claim your sign."

Her blush returned with a vengeance. "My thane, do you know how much a prospective housecarl is teased when the guards learn that she's a Lover?"

Some form of understanding slowly crept over Volund's features. "They were afraid you would be a Lover and _not_ a fighter? Maybe you wouldn't be man enough for your job?" he joked, but Lydia didn't smile.

"No, my thane, I – can we just drop it, please?"

Volund was a bit taken aback.

"Of course, Lydia. I'm sorry."

"No, my thane, you don't need to… I'm not angry, just… nevermind. Forget I said anything, my thane. Please."

Volund nodded, and the two fell silent for some time afterward.

XxXxXxXx

When they reached High Hrothgar, Lydia again waited outside, together with her pack and Volund's while the Dragonborn entered the sanctuary to present the Greybeards with the horn. A few moments later, she threw herself to the ground and covered her ears as the mountain began to shake with a roar that, even through the stone building and her clasped hands, was painfully loud. She could hear the words clearly, but none were recognizable except Kyne, Shor, Atmora, and Ysmir. It wasn't long before Volund emerged, pale and shaken, moving slowly. Lydia's foul mood that had lingered since the morning now vanished, and worry replaced it. She rushed to Volund's side; he looked unsteady enough to stumble on the stairs.

"My thane, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" She was almost breathless.

"No, not hurt." Volund didn't look at her, staring instead out over the awe-inspiring view of Skyrim that High Hrothgar commanded. Just as Lydia was about to insist that he sit down, he spoke again. "I'm Ysmir now."

No Nord could ever have expected to hear that sentence. Lydia could only stammer, "My… My thane, what?"

"I don't know. Not Talos… I'm not Talos, obviously, but I am Ysmir. I'm the Dragon of the North, and I wear the Stormcrown that Talos wore. The Greybeards said it. Kyne and Shor and Akatosh and all the history of Atmora and Skyrim are all gathered together, looking at me now, and I'm their champion, their representative here, and I can't let them down, and I don't even know what it is that I'm supposed to be doing." He took a ragged breath, then another.

"I understood it, Lydia. I understood everything for a moment. When they Shouted their greeting to me I understood what they were saying, even though it was in the dragon language. I… their shouts should have torn me apart I think, but they just sounded like children whispering in my ears. They're just mortals, Lydia, but I'm something else. I'm the Dragon of the North, Atmora's first son."

He drew in a deep breath and his eyes narrowed as he looked out over the land, and Lydia cringed backward from him. She had seen, for just a moment, a ring of fire and lightning on his brow. Then he sighed, and his shoulders dropped low, and he turned to face her but she no longer cringed. His face was the same friendly one she had gotten to know in recent days, only now it looked very lonely and a little sad.

"And all I want is for it all to go away, and to just be Volund again. I had a good life. A little lonely, sometimes, but the loneliest man alive is in more company than a dragon. Now I'm a thane, and Dragonborn, and Atmoran, and Ysmir, and Divines only know what else."

Lydia stepped closer to him, and put a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Whatever else you may be, you are not alone…" she whispered, and closed her eyes. "…Volund."

He stared at her, eyes almost wild. He grabbed her, then, and hugged her, armor plates clanking together unheeded, and he held on to her as if she was his only anchor to reality. As his surprised housecarl returned the embrace, Volund cried openly.


	8. Chapter 8

It didn't take long for Volund to master himself. He pulled back to arm's length, a hand still on Lydia's shoulder, and gave a watery smile.

"I guess my reputation is pretty much irretrievable after this, isn't it? A little posing doesn't make up for crying like a child."

Lydia laughed at him.

"Your secret's safe with me," she said, "but the secret isn't that you're not a man, it's that you're a _good_ man."

He smiled again, more strongly, then sniffed once and roughly wiped his face with the back of his hand, removing most of the water from it.

"Well, I must be doing something right; after all, I got you, Lydia." He reached down, hefting up one pack in each hand, and held out the handle of one to her. "Shall we?"

She took it and slung it on her back, and the two began the trip down the mountain.

By the time they had reached the bottom, it was nearly dark. They entered the Vilemyr Inn for the night, looking forward to a few well-earned comforts after days on the road. The innkeeper, a nervous-looking man named Wilhelm, had a fair selection of food, and the travelers ordered venison, potatoes, a loaf of bread and two glasses of mead, their stomachs both rumbling at the thought.

A moment after their meals had been brought, however, the door to the inn burst open and a breathless courier appeared.

"Is the…" he panted, "Dragonborn here?"

Volund grunted, swallowed his mouthful of venison, then put his head in his hand. To his credit, however, he then stood up and greeted the courier.

"That's me, friend. What do you have for me, and what do you know about me anyway?"

"Jarl Balgruuf sent me," the courier said. He looked to be perhaps sixteen, and was just beginning to get his breath back. "He said he thought the Dragonborn would be passing through Ivarstead, and that it was urgent that you get his message." The youth proudly held out an envelope that did, indeed, have the seal of the jarl on it. Volund exchanged a worried look with Lydia.

"Thank you, friend. Have a seat and some food, until I can see if I need to send a response with you."

The youth went to the innkeeper and Volund tore open the letter.

_To Volund, the Dragonborn and Thane of Whiterun,_

_The jarl hopes that your errand with the Greybeards has been a fruitful one, but he and Whiterun pray to the Divines that it is also concluded. Imperial messengers have brought word that Ulfric Stormcloak intends to take Whiterun by force, likely within a matter of days. The Jarl feels that, should it come to battle, the presence of the Dragonborn in the defense of his city would inspire valor in the defenders and foster terror and doubt in the faithless Stormcloak aggressors. As you may be key to the defense of the hold, Jarl Balgruuf urgently requests your presence in Whiterun as soon as it is possible. Divines watch over us all._

_Signed,  
Proventus Avenicci,  
Steward to the Jarl_

Volund lowered the paper. Lydia's eyes darted around his face, looking for answers.

"Ulfric is going to attack Whiterun. We have to get there as soon as we can."

The courier heard his speech and responded before Lydia could.

"Bah, bring on the Stormcloaks! We have the Dragonborn! By Ysmir, Ulfric will regret the day he attacks us!"

Lydia almost choked. Volund blinked once, then nodded slowly.

"Yes… Yes, I think it is about time Ysmir did something about Ulfric's little rebellion."

Lydia almost felt sorry for the Stormcloaks.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Volund and Lydia had finished their meal quickly, slept a few hours, and risen before the sun to begin the trip back to Whiterun. When they finally reached the city, they found it in an uproar. Civilians streamed from the outlying farms into the relative safety of the town. Whiterun guards and Imperial Legionnaires worked side-by-side, preparing containers of water and stockpiles of buckets to fight fires, and making last-minute repairs to the old city walls. The drawbridge was being reinforced as well, and the travelers had to step lightly around workers to even enter the city. Many of the Whiterun guards cheered when they saw the Dragonborn, already a legend in Whiterun, and his housecarl. The pair nodded and waved a bit, but mostly tried to push through the crowds to the palace.

Inside the city was even more chaotic than outside. Adrianne's hammer rang constantly, and several Legion blacksmiths had set up portable equipment near her shop as well. They sharpened weapons and repaired armor and shields at a fever pace. Rows of sandbags and barriers were being placed at strategic points in the city. Many civilians had boarded up the windows, and in some cases even the doors, to their houses.

Higher up in the city, many people were gathered around the temple of Kynareth and the shrine to Talos. Legionnaires turned a blind eye to the Talos worshippers, a few of whom were from their own ranks. Strangely, Volund saw no activity at Jorrvaskr. Its doors were shut and the Skyforge was dark. He wondered at the small mystery, but had no time to investigate.

Finally, the pair reached the palace, and a guard ushered them quickly into Jarl Balgruuf's presence. He was upstairs, poring over a map of the city alongside an Imperial Legate. The Jarl looked up, and a few of the lines of worry left his face when he saw the Dragonborn.

"Hail, thane!" he said. "It's rare that I've been so pleased to see an arrival as I am to see you. I trust your audience with the Greybeards went smoothly?"

"It did indeed, my jarl," Volund said, falling easily into the speech patterns of the court. "But our business is concluded for the moment, and I am here to defend your city."

"Good, good, my friend," the jarl sighed. "It is a great relief. I fear the attack will come at any time. When the Legion shared its information with me, I sent my brother to Ulfric bearing my axe to learn the man's intentions. Three days ago, Hrongar returned with the axe. The war will begin in earnest soon."

The Legate cleared his throat, tapping the map on the table. Jarl Balgruuf turned back to it.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, turning for one minute more. "I told Farengar to enchant anything you might need for the battle, free of charge. Talk to him if you wish, but remember he's nearly as busy as I am!" The jarl laughed humorlessly.

Lydia was standing at the top of the staircase, and shook her head slowly as Volund turned back toward her.

"I know, I know," he whispered, "but it's too good an opportunity to pass up!"

The housecarl groaned, softly enough that the jarl couldn't hear. "Yes, my thane," she said.

Farengar certainly did look busy as they walked into his quarters. He was waving his hands over a shield, muttering to himself, as a reddish light grew around the object. It flashed brightly, then faded, and a small soul gem on the enchanting table shattered into tiny fragments. Farengar turned to put the shield on a table which already contained several others. He snorted when he saw the dragonborn.

"Come to Dragonsreach to decide the outcome of this war, like the rest of our esteemed guests?" he mumbled. It was clear he was not pleased with the interruptions to his work.

"That's the idea," Volund said flatly. "The jarl told us you would enchant our equipment."

"Yes, yes, pile it on. What spells do you wish?"

"For me, anything to help with heavy armor, swords, and shields. For Lydia, armor and archery."

Farengar nodded brusquely. Volund began to pile his equipment near the enchanter's table. Lydia seemed stunned.

"My thane," she hissed. "Do you intend me to sit out the battle?"

"No, but I'd prefer it if you were out of harm's way. I've seen you shoot; you can do a lot of good from on top of the wall, Lydia."

"And I'd prefer it if _you_ were out of harm's way, _my thane_," she retorted. "It's my job to keep you safe!"

He sighed. "Lydia, I can't guarantee either of us will survive this battle."

"Neither can I, my thane – _if_ I'm up on the wall!"

Volund threw his hands into the air.

"Shields, heavy armor, and swords for both of us, then, Farengar. Divines save me from the wrath of housecarls."

Lydia smirked, satisfied, as she piled her armor plates, shield, and sword beside Volund's. While they waited for Farengar to work, they went to the armory and found an unused chest with a sturdy lock on it. They put their packs, still full of gold, inside it, and Volund hung the key around his neck. Then, clad only in their clothing and the leather underlays of their armor, they walked around the city, encouraging soldiers and listening to the speeches made by others. A Nord woman, wearing the helmet of a Legate, was shouting a rousing piece to the soldiers under her command. Even Volund and Lydia, as they listened, found their heads lifting and their shoulders squaring. When the speaker was done, she made a beeline for Volund.

"You're the Dragonborn, aren't you?" She wasted no time or words. "One of the guards pointed you out earlier."

"That's right. Name's Volund; pleased to meet you…?"

"Rikke, Legate Rikke. I'm glad you're here, Dragonborn, and I'm excited to see what you can do. Your siding with us is a huge blow to Ulfric's claims to legitimacy. It would be an even bigger blow if you were wearing Legion colors." She pointedly stared at the small, unobtrusive medal that Volund still wore. "General Tullius told me about you. It didn't take long for word to reach Solitude about the Nord Volund slaying dragons, and the general put two and two together. If you wanted, you could earn a medal or two for yourself."

"Much as I hate Ulfric, Legate, I'm not thinking any further than this battle right now. This city has quickly become the closest thing I have to a home, and all I know is that I won't let it fall while I'm still breathing."

"I suppose I can respect that," Rikke said. "Well then, Divines be with us today; we'll see what tomorrow holds when it comes."

"A good enough plan," Volund agreed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Farengar finished with their equipment before eleven o'clock that night, and they put it on immediately. Volund thanked the mage for both of them in a few short words; Lydia nodded at the man coolly on the way out.

Now as ready as they could be, the two waited, along with many other soldiers, for the attack. They did not wait long.

Thirty minutes after midnight, a scout came in saying Ulfric's army had been spotted. Within an hour, it was visible from the city walls. By dawn, the city was surrounded by catapults and soldiers. That morning there was not one sunrise, but twenty, as burning projectiles rose from the catapults and flew over the city walls, impacting houses, streets, wells, and more. Legionnaires and some hardy civilians were quick to respond, forming bucket brigades and dousing fires wherever they started. A second round of flaming shot followed, then a third and a fourth. Efficient as the Legion was, many buildings had been damaged or destroyed, and a few fires had not been put out; they were slowly spreading. When the fifth round of projectiles hit, it was joined by the first wave of soldiers.

The soldiers had a large battering ram in their midst; they pushed up the path toward the main gate. Legion and Whiterun archers on the walls and towers peppered their ranks with arrows, and the Stormcloak progress was slowed by the barricades in their way, but they had men enough that the ram reached the drawbridge before long. Some soldiers who had carried thick boards laid them down quickly, to form a rough bridge over the gap. The battering ram with its crew rushed forward and smashed into the raised drawbridge. The lumber in it creaked, and tiny splinters fell from it. The archers continued to down Stormcloaks, but they were not dismayed. Archers from the Stormcloak ranks fired back at the walls, and though the stone offered the defenders protection, a few fell.

The battering ram hit the drawbridge a second time. Simultaneously, all around the city, ladders were raised up to the top of the wall. The defenders kicked them down, smashed them with hammers, or dropped large rocks on the soldiers who attempted to scale the ladders that remained. No Stormcloaks had got into the city yet.

The battering ram hit the drawbridge a third time. The timber was visibly cracking despite its reinforced backing, and Stormcloaks filled the space behind it, eager to rush in as soon as they could.

The battering ram hit the drawbridge a fourth time, and it gave way, bending inward and sagging down from the top.

"**FUS RO DAH!"**

The remains of the gate and the battering ram flew outward faster than a horse could gallop, crushing huge numbers of Stormcloaks. A roaring cheer went up from inside the city, and a chant of "Dragonborn! Dragonborn!" could be heard. The Stormcloaks who had a moment earlier been ready to charge the main gate wavered. Arrows hammered the indecisive group, and they began to falter. A Stormcloak general near the back finally screamed some courage back into them, and they charged toward the gate again.

As they passed under the archway that the drawbridge had previously protected, oil poured down from it, spilled by hidden guards. A fireball came down from a mage on the main wall of the city, and set it ablaze, burning more than a few Stormcloaks into screaming ashes. The oil burned away eventually, however, and the Stormcloaks charged a third time. This time, they got far enough to see the defenders that waited for them. The Legion stood in perfect formation, ready and eager to engage. With them stood many of Whiterun's defenders, including Hrongar, the jarl's brother. At the front of them all, however, stood the Dragonborn and his housecarl. The quicksilver dragon's head on Volund's shield gleamed in the early morning light, and his sword was raised. A split second of perfect stillness settled over the battlefield.

"Divines be with us," Volund muttered.

"By Ysmir," Lydia replied.

They both grinned, and joined the charge.

* * *

Author's note: Two chapters in a day! Things are starting to move pretty quickly, for me and for Volund.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as the battle lines hit, the world stopped making sense. Orderly ranks became isolated fights instantaneously. A Stormcloak charged Volund with his great sword held high above his head, swinging it down fast enough that the air whistled around it. Volund twisted to the side and brought his shield into the back of the man's head, knocking him forward into Volund's waiting blade. He caught a glimpse of Lydia fending off two soldiers, a man and a woman, but he couldn't get to her before another enemy cut him off, swinging a mace like a madman.

Volund backed up a step and raised his shield, angling it so that the mace bounced to the side rather than sinking into the metal. Exposed, the enemy could do nothing but scream as Volund's sword ended him.

Volund could hear Hrongar's war cries, coming from a surprising distance away. They were punctuated with the sound of blows from a warhammer on a shield. There was no sign of Lydia.

After the next Stormcloak he killed, a relatively short woman, Volund had a moment where, in one direction, all he could see was blue. He cried out, shouting unrelenting force into the enemy army and blowing them backward. Some landed on swords or broke their necks or backs when they fell, but many more took their places.

An arrow whizzed past his head, and Volund ducked, raising his shield. He looked out just in time to see the enemy archer die to an arrow from the bow of a Whiterun guard.

Suddenly, Lydia was at his side again, a bloody cut on her face and a fire in her eyes, throwing her shield in between him and the next assailant. While his housecarl dealt with one Stormcloak, Volund knocked aside the blade of another who had intended to kill her. The dragonborn killed the man with his shield, hitting his chin so hard his neck broke. The crowd of enemies had swept him apart from Lydia again in the meantime.

The battle raged on, back and forth, for what seemed like forever. In reality, it was probably not more than an hour. The sun was not yet high in the sky when a horn blew from outside the city, and the Stormcloaks began a retreat. Volund would have smiled, but he was barely on his feet.

He had been hit in the shoulder by an arrow, and forced to leave the battle only moments before. He now knelt down, fumbling with his good hand to remove the armor from his shoulder. That done, he clenched his teeth and pushed the arrow further in, grunting involuntarily at the blinding pain. The barbed head emerged from the other side of his shoulder, and he broke the shaft off, almost passing out. He rallied, pulled out the other half of the arrow from the other side, and folded in on himself.

Summoning his willpower again, he raised his one movable hand to the wound, releasing the gentle glow of a healing spell into the gory shoulder. He expected to run out of magicka long before it was healed, but hoped to at least stop the worst of the bleeding. He found himself with greater reserves than he had thought, however. The wound closed entirely, and his arm was usable again. Attributing it to battlefield adrenaline, he didn't give his increased magicka power a second thought. Instead, he rose to his feet, attempting to take stock of the losses.

Hrongar was covered in blood, but appeared healthy. Volund guessed it was all from his enemies. The man was trudging around the battlefield, checking Stormcloak bodies and mercy killing those who still lived.

Legate Rikke was reorganizing her scattered troops and taking an accounting of her own. Her helmet had been lost in the fray, and one of her arms looked bloody, but she ignored it like the seasoned soldier that she was.

And then, suddenly and almost out of nowhere, Lydia appeared at his side again. Her face was drawn with pain, but the first thing she did was give attention to the bloody mess at Volund's shoulder. When she realized the wound had been healed, she heaved a sigh of relief. When the arrow had hit, late in the battle, Lydia had fought like a berserker to keep the Stormcloaks off the wounded Dragonborn while he retreated. Her shield and the arm that had held it, Volund discovered, were both broken by a steel warhammer that had been intended for Volund's head.

Volund attempted to heal her arm, but his skill wasn't great enough to do any appreciable good. Giving up on that, he instead began to clear a path back inside the city, toward the temple of Kynareth and the healers that were set up within.

The city was full of chaos and fire and desperate energy born from simply being alive. Volund fought to clear a path wide enough that Lydia would not be bumped by anyone. Eventually they made it to the Cloud District and the temple. Whether by the protection of Kynareth, or some other cause, the temple had not been damaged in the battle, and the healers were working frantically within and around it. Volund was tempted to use his rank to call one over for Lydia immediately, but she stopped him.

"It's just a broken arm, my thane," she gasped. "No hurry for me. They're still trying to save lives right now." She walked toward an unoccupied corner and sat down, exhaustion and pain evident on her face. "I'll be fine here until they have time for me, my thane."

He wanted to stay with her, but her rebuke had reminded him of the other needs around them. He nodded at her, and went back outside the city gates.

Many dead Legionnaires and guards scattered the ground, but the Stormcloaks had been at a disadvantage in the fight, and there were nearly twice as many casualties wearing blue. Bodies lay where they fell, sometimes piled two or three high. The place already stunk badly, and trying to find living allies was a nightmare, but Volund and many others worked at it nevertheless. He found several, and helped carry the most urgent cases one by one to the healers in the city. On one trip, the local alchemist flagged him down, along with another guard, asking for their help in carrying her latest, desperately brewed batch of healing potions to the makeshift hospital. Volund handed them out to the wounded who were still conscious enough to drink.

The day wore on. By evening, all the fires had been put out, and the critically injured were either healed or dead. The jarl had addressed the soldiers and the city, thanking them for their sacrifice and promising them recovery. Horse- and oxen-drawn wagons were at work hauling the dead bodies out of the city and its surroundings, and lumber for the mass funeral pyres was already starting to accumulate.

After the fires and destruction, more than a few people would be without a home for many nights to come, but with or without a bed, most were slowing down for the night. Almost everyone in the city had been awake and hard at work for nearly two days straight, and it was beginning to catch up with them.

Lydia, arm fully healed, had found Volund splashing his face with water from the city's streams near the base of the stairs to Dragonsreach. He looked up as she approached. Both of them were filthy, mud and dried blood crusting their armor and skin, but they smiled and then laughed anyway, glad to be alive. Unable to stop himself, Volund picked up Lydia, armor and all, and spun around in a circle. She shrieked, surprised, but theirs was not the only joyful celebration of the day, and no one who saw it seemed to begrudge them their happiness. Lydia muttered something about impropriety, but couldn't stop grinning nevertheless. The two trudged slowly up the stairs to the palace, cleaned themselves quickly, and fell into empty beds in the guardhouse. Tonight, even Volund was ready for sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The morning was a mix of business as usual and total chaos. The servants were back in their routine enough to draw proper baths for the two, who gratefully accepted. Volund emerged from his private room dressed in light clothing only, his armor damaged and dirty enough to preclude wearing it. He found Lydia wearing a loose cotton shirt, dark pants and leather boots, her armor also almost unsalvageable. Her black hair was wet and loose, and she looked relaxed and refreshed. She smiled at him, and Volund grinned back. He stretched, relieving the soreness in his back and shoulders that had come with a long day of fighting and hard work. When he looked back, Lydia was still watching him. She quickly turned away to search for breakfast.

They were given breakfast alongside the jarl, who looked almost as stressed as he had before the battle. He had a whole city to rebuild.

"My friend," he said once he had eaten, "that's twice you've saved my city." Ignoring Volund's objections that he hadn't done it alone, Balgruuf continued. "I think you've earned more than just Lydia for your service." Volund began to sputter indignantly, Lydia reddened, and Balgruuf continued, oblivious or ignoring them both. "There are now many people without homes in my city, and it's made me realize that you are one of them. One of my guards who died yesterday had a house but no kin. The deed comes back to me in such a case, and I award it now to you for your valor on behalf of Whiterun."

The Dragonborn tried to refuse, but the Jarl did not relent. In the end, Volund took the deed, but left 4 gold bars to the jarl to help with the costs of reconstructing the city. He and Lydia gathered the rest of their belongings and left the palace to go find their new home.

Breezehome turned out to be extremely close to Adrianne's blacksmith shop, and fairly close to the gates of Whiterun. The house, like the blacksmith shop, was surprisingly undamaged by the fighting and the fires; the missiles had fallen more toward the center of the city. Volund unlocked the door and pushed it open, and the two stepped in.

It was clear that the previous owner had been a bachelor. It was clear, as well, that he had stayed mostly at the guards' barracks rather than in his house. Dust and cobwebs hung thick on the place, and what little furniture was present was all rough and spartan. There was a simple bed of hay and hides upstairs, and a surprisingly sturdy-looking chest, which contained only a few supplies meant for maintaining armor and weapons. The adventurers dropped everything into it except for the remaining gold, and locked it. The house, dirty as it was, was second on the list. Equipment was the priority.

Adrianne and her shop were a strange oasis in the war-torn city. The shop was totally undamaged, and the woman looked as if this were just another day in her life. She leisurely pounded a shield back into shape, looking up to see the visitors arrive.

"You never told me my smithing assistant was the Dragonborn," she called out.

"You never asked," he replied.

She laughed. "You know, the first time you Shouted yesterday, I knew we were going to be alright."

Lydia laughed, and Volund looked sheepish. "Well, I wish I would have been as certain. We did come out of it alright in the end, but our armor is another story."

"Plenty of work to be done if you want to earn the ore again, Dragonborn. I would give it to you in thanks for saving the city, but I can't afford it right now."

"I'm not asking for any donations this time, Adrianne. I have something for you instead." The woman's eyes widened as Volund set down the four gold bars, one by one, on her workbench. "Is this enough for two sets of steel plate armor?"

Adrianne laughed in disbelief. "That's almost enough for my shop, Dragonborn! If you're giving me all that, you just moved to first on my customer list."

"It's yours," he said. "A set of steel plate for me and for Lydia, two shields, and two swords." Their weapons had been battered and notched in the battle. The only things either of them had which survived in usable condition were their bows. Adrianne nodded at the order, and began to quickly take measurements for the armor.

"It'll be a day or two, but I'll get it done as quickly as I can."

When Adrianne was done with them, the pair returned to Breezehome and began to clean the place. Volund, occasionally asking for Lydia's opinion, took an accounting of what it needed in order to become livable. When the place was relatively clean, they took a trip to the general goods store.

Belethor, the proprietor, was a sleazy little man, but he had a good selection. When Volund showed him the jewels remaining from the barrow, the shopkeeper's eyes lit up. A real mattress for the bed, whose frame at least had turned out to be well-made, was the first order of business. A basic table and chairs, some cooking and dining gear, and a small cabinet rounded out the purchases Volund and Lydia had felt necessary for the moment.

They left the shop with a promise that the furniture would be delivered that day, and with a few hundred Septims in their pockets. It was now almost time for the evening meal, and they headed toward the Bannered Mare, along with many others from the city, to see what was available.

* * *

Author's note: I'm aware that in-game, four gold bars would not be nearly enough to purchase two full sets of steel plate armor. However, the game DRASTICALLY undervalues gold. I looked up current gold prices, and ONE gold bar the size of a Skyrim ingot would be worth over $600,000 (USD). Obviously there is no direct way to translate this back into Skyrim's economy, but the point is that GOLD IS EXPENSIVE. In a world where you can spend 30 or more coins on a decent meal, a gold bar would be worth more than 100.


	10. Chapter 10

Volund burst through the door to his house, still laughing. Lydia followed, her smile only widening when she saw the new furniture already in place. She ran ahead of Volund, up the stairs, and saw that the new mattress, too, was in place. The housecarl pulled off her leather boots and jumped onto the soft bed, pulling her bare feet under her.

The Bannered Mare had been packed with bodies, celebrating the victory of the day before or seeking food and shelter to replace their own that had been lost. It had quickly grown hot, and Lydia had at some point rolled up her sleeves. Her arms were still bare now, and Volund admired them. They were shapely, strong looking but not unattractively so. Her skin was pale, flawless, and had no hair.

His housecarl watched him stare at her. In addition to her meal, she had had a glass of mead; it was not enough to make her drunk, but she had quickly become relaxed and talkative, laughing easily at Volund's jokes.

The Dragonborn, on the other hand, had had considerably more than one glass. His sheer size protected him from the worst of the effects, but he was happy and carefree as well. He had talked constantly except when he was laughing, and had made many friends in the inn during the night.

Suddenly tired of watching him watch her, Lydia threw her head back and sighed.

"Are you _ever_ going to sleep with me, my thane?"

Volund could not have been more shocked if she had turned into a dragon in his living room. His mind, somewhat slowed by mead, couldn't react except to say, "What?"

"It was the part of the job I never looked forward to before I saw you, but then, you showed up, and you're easy on the eyes, and the Dragonborn, and you're… you're _you_, andyesterday before the battle, all I could think about was why you'd never taken advantage of your rights as thane. You've certainly hinted enough that you find me pretty!"

"Lydia, what in all of Nirn are you talking about?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then flopped back onto the bed and laughed helplessly, her stomach shaking.

"So that's it! You aren't avoiding me, you don't fancy men, you just have no idea!" She sat up, forced herself into a straight face, then lost it again as she giggled. "I'm sorry, my thane, I thought you knew! You seemed to respond to my… subtler hints about it. Plus, haven't you seen the other Jarls and housecarls in Skyrim? Haven't you wondered why all of them have housecarls of the opposite gender? Well, not all. Ulfric and Skald are too focused on playing war to have any time for such things, and Siddgeir… prefers the company of men. But surely you've heard about Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth?"

Volund shook his head slowly. His world was turning upside down.

"Let me spell it out for you, then. Divines, I should have had another mead. Housecarls are to _help _and _serve_ their lords. Anything that can make your life easier, happier, more comfortable, more enjoyable, I'm obligated to do. Most jarls interpret that as including sex, whether or not they already have a wife or mistress. Balgruuf, to his credit, never did until after his wife died. And anyway, Irileth was always madly in love with him."

Volund laughed. "Now I know you're joking. Irileth in love?" He chuckled some more. "You might have had me up until that."

"I'm _not_ joking, my thane. She doesn't show it, obviously, because she's, well, _her_, but she cares about him more than anything. Why do you think she fought so hard to become his housecarl in the first place? But whether or not you believe me about her, I'm not joking about the rest. The customs of Skyrim say you have a right to be with me. And," she added slowly, another blush creeping up her cheeks, "I don't object to your exercising it."

Volund's mind swam. "Lydia, I've never been… never done…"

"Well, neither have I!" she cut in. "You have to be a virgin to be assigned as housecarl. Well, you're supposed to be, anyway, and _I_ am one. And don't worry," she said, "I won't get pregnant. Part of becoming a housecarl, for a woman anyway, is undergoing several magic spells. We have to always be ready to serve, in bed or in battle, so I can't get pregnant anymore – or have any monthly periods. I can't say I'll miss them," she laughed.

Shock and nervousness had snapped Volund almost entirely awake, free of the mead's effects. His mind reeled at what she had gone through, what she had sacrificed in her life to become his housecarl. He scrambled for the words that matched his thoughts. "Lydia, you're beautiful, and strong, and supportive, and everything else I could ever want from a woman, but if we do this, it's because I want to, not just because I can; it's because I have _you_ as my housecarl, not just because I have a woman as my housecarl. And above all, only if you want it, too."

"I do," she said softly. She rose and began to take off her thane's shirt.

The first time Lydia said Volund's name was in a whisper on the top of the Throat of the World. The second time was considerably louder.

* * *

Author's note: So, I'm really not a huge pervert, but SO MANY of the housecarls in the game are the opposite gender of the noble they serve that this conclusion just sort of jumped out at me. In a society which glorifies action and passion and manly prowess in battle, and in which marriage, to say nothing of sex, is common after a few days or weeks of attraction, this seems like the only plausible explanation. Otherwise, wouldn't all the jarls just try to give you the beefiest, manliest Nord possible if a housecarl was just a bodyguard?

Once I had realized this (apparent) fact about Skyrim, I knew I would have to have a scene like this, and this seemed like the right time; as one reviewer mentioned, these two definitely deserved a break! I've been building up to it slowly, trying to weave in the tracks which lead up to it without giving it away too soon. Hopefully I did that for you all.

Also, for anyone hoping for a more… detailed account of the evening, sorry, but this story is never going to have detailed descriptions of sex, for a couple of reasons. And anyway, even if I wanted to include it, I'm not good at that sort of writing.


	11. Chapter 11

When Lydia woke in the morning, it was to discover that she had draped herself across her thane during the night; her head rested against his shoulder. The man in question was already awake, if he had ever slept, but he seemed in no hurry to escape the situation. She gave him a sleepy smile.

"By Ysmir, that was a good night," she mumbled, yawning.

He groaned.

"You're having too much fun with that one… but it really was, wasn't it?"

"It was. And I'm the only one who knows there's a new Ysmir walking around… I've got to make up for all the others who don't have the chance to worship you – or mock you."

"Of course, of course," he nodded, in false seriousness. "But if you abuse your knowledge too much, I might have to take advantage of a little secret I know about you… Lover."

She smacked his chest, fairly hard, but her face had a smile on it.

"Somehow I wouldn't mind that as much anymore, I think," she whispered.

"Well, you certainly earned your sign last night," he said. She smacked him again.

"Well, _my thane_, what's _your_ birthsign, then?"

"The Lord," he said.

She groaned. "I knew it. I _knew_ you were going to be a Lord. The guards had a dirty limerick they used to chant at me that involved a Lord and a Lover."

Volund snorted. "Well I didn't hear any complaints about the benefits of my sign last night," he said.

She pretended to consider very seriously. "Hm… what are the traits of a Lord, again? 'Stronger and healthier than most?' I'm not sure I noticed anything like that last night. Maybe you should try again…"

He growled playfully and rolled over.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

It was noon before the pair emerged from Breezehome, dressed again in plain clothing. Their cooking supplies had been delivered the night before, but neither of them had thought to buy food, so they headed once more for the Bannered Mare.

Inside, they found Legate Rikke and a few other ranking Legionnaires eating a hasty meal. Volund and Lydia chatted a bit with the Legate. She and her men were, as it turned out, about to leave the city for their next campaign against the Stormcloaks.

"The Legion needs you, Dragonborn," Rikke said before she left. "Come to Solitude; sign up. Help us win this war." She clapped him on the shoulder and followed her men out the door.

"Tullius is a smart man," said a voice from behind Volund. He jerked slightly in surprise, and Lydia tensed to jump out of her seat if necessary. The voice went on undisturbed.

"He'll get this war sorted out with or without your help. There's another matter that needs your expertise – _if_ you're really Dragonborn."

The speaker was a small woman with an intelligent gleam in her eye. Her face looked forty or fifty years old, but she wore full armor and carried herself like a woman in her prime. A Breton, Volund decided. She was blonde and thin, with a sword at her hip of unfamiliar make.

"Who wants to know?" Volund finally asked.

She shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. I know everything there is to know about you, at least as far as this city is concerned. You're the new thane, who _helped_ kill a dragon and who _helped_ win a battle, and who can shout. Problem is, anyone can learn to shout. I need more proof than that. If it turns out you really are Dragonborn, I'm on your side, one hundred percent."

Everything about her said she was keeping secrets, but Volund played along. "Ok, say I cared what you think of me. What kind of proof are you asking for?"

"I need to see you absorb a dragon's soul."

"Look, lady," he laughed. "I've seen exactly two dragons in my life. One's already dead, and the other's been gone for over a week. Where am I supposed to get another one to kill?"

"I know where."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was snowing in Kynesgrove when they arrived the next day. The woman from the Bannered Mare, who still wouldn't tell them her name, walked ahead of them, moving quickly for someone with such short legs. Volund followed behind her, and Lydia walked beside and slightly behind him.

He glanced over at her for perhaps the thousandth time this trip and grinned; she rolled her eyes at him but returned the smile. Adrianne had done an excellent job in the craftsmanship of their new armor, but she had made Lydia's much more… form fitting than her old armor had been. Lydia had almost rejected it when she saw it, but Volund's expression made her laugh, and she tried it on. She had moved around in it for a bit, and then finally accepted it, to Volund's surprise; she claimed it was much more comfortable than her old armor had been. Their mysterious contact likely would not have waited for it to be changed, anyway.

The new armor, coupled with the new developments in their relationship, made it hard for Volund to focus on anything but Lydia. She didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she often found ways to subtly egg him on whenever no one was watching. By necessity, the pair was getting quite good at going from shameless flirting to a professional, no-nonsense façade at a moment's notice – which they did again as the woman in front of them stopped and turned around suddenly.

"Ok, the burial mound is just on top of that hill. We should be able…"

A thunderous roar shook the sky, and villagers began to stream down the path from the village. The three travelers ran up the path, instead, only to find a huge black dragon flying above the burial mound.

"That's the dragon from Helgen," Volund whispered.

"Are you sure?" the Breton hissed.

"It's not something I'm likely to forget!" he returned.

"_Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!"_ The black dragon spoke.

"Why is he just hovering…" the Breton began.

"Sshh! Let me hear!" Volund interjected. The stranger and Lydia both looked at him in confusion.

"_Slen tiid vo!"_ the dragon Shouted.

"_Slen tiid vo_," Volund repeated. "'Let your flesh defy time…' _That's_ what's bringing them back to life! Wherever that dragon came from, he's clearly bringing his friends back to…"

The ground shook, and a massive skeleton clawed its way out of the earth, glowing flesh beginning to appear on and around the bones.

"_Alduin, thuri_. _Boann tiid…_"

"**FUS RO DAH!**"

Volund's shout hit the black dragon, but did not seem to disturb it greatly. It turned to face him. To Lydia and the other woman, what it said was incomprehensible, but to Volund, the words held meaning.

"_Ah, the mortal pretender. Your soul is weak, and your Voice weaker still. You are not of dragon-kind_."

Words in the dragon language sprang to his mind, and Volund answered in kind.

"_Nevertheless, you seem to have heard of me. I can't say the same of you."_ Lydia and the stranger stared at him, eyes wide, as he spoke like a dragon, his voice booming.

"_Mortal fool! I am Alduin, lord of dragons, ruler of this world, returned at last to resume my rightful place. All will serve me, or sate my hunger, at my pleasure. Bow before me and I may keep you, for a time, as an amusing pet." _

"This is bad," Volund whispered in the common tongue. "This is very bad."

"_I have no time for your indecision. Sahloknir, kill the mortals._"

"_Yes, my lord_," the other dragon replied.

"Time to fight!" Volund said. He breathed a sigh of relief as Alduin began to fly away, but quickly realized they were far from safe. Sahloknir, his flesh fully reformed, breathed a jet of flame at the humans without even bothering to take to the skies. His target dove for cover behind a large rock outcropping. As the fire blast continued, the Breton simply seemed impatient.

"What is going on?" she yelled.

"Ok, well, I have good news and I have bad news," Volund said. "The good news is that we know how dragons are reappearing now! Oh, and also, I can speak their language for some reason. Bad news… that big black dragon we just saw? That's Alduin. He's going to eat the world, I think." The fire blast abated, and Volund vaulted over the steaming rock and charged at the dragon.

Lydia followed an instant later, her sense of duty overriding her conscious thought processes about the end of the world. The Breton crouched against the rock for a moment longer, lost in overwhelmed thought.

"Well, damn," she finally said. She stood up to join the fight.

Three giant claw marks already scored the brand new shield that Volund held. A deep gash in the left wing of the dragon seemed to be what he had given in return. Lydia, meanwhile, had somehow managed to climb on top of its neck. Her sword hacked at the scales on its head.

Sahloknir, enraged, tried to shake the woman off of him, but this distracted him from his other assailants. While Lydia dropped her sword and hung on for dear life, Volund dove underneath the dragon and began to stab upward at its stomach. It screeched unnaturally.

"_Motmahus_ _mal lir! Dir pogaan dinok!"_

It attempted to crush him under its foot, but the Breton had finally joined the fight, slicing into the membrane of the dragon's unhurt wing. It shrieked again, and threw her back with the bleeding appendage, now useless for flight. Lydia dropped off of its neck and rolled across the ground toward her discarded sword. Volund, finding the scales too hard to do real damage to even on the beast's stomach, had emerged from beneath it and now approached its head with his shield raised, hoping to somehow repeat his tactics with the first dragon.

Instead of lunging, Sahloknir took in a deep breath and Shouted.

"**Yol Toor Shul!"** Flames began to spill from its mouth and race toward the Dragonborn. With only a split second of life before him, Volund reacted without thought.

"**FUS RO DAH!**"

The force of his shout tore through the fire blast like a whirlwind, gathering it and dragging it along as it impacted the dragon's open mouth. The intertwined shouts seemed to blow into the dragon, disappearing down its throat. It shrieked in pain for a third time, flailing helplessly about and beating the ground with its feet and wings. Eventually, it stilled, its eyes glassy. Volund sprinted to it and swiftly stabbed down through its eye to be safe, but it did not react. A moment later, its flesh, so newly regrown, boiled and erupted again.

Volund inhaled the power of a second dragon. As the energy danced around him, Lydia once again saw a spectral crown of the same substance appear on his head. The Breton looked on, jaw wide. Soon enough, the soul and the crown both faded and drew back inside of Volund, and a hush fell over the area.

"Well, I guess I owe you an explanation," the Breton said. "My name is Delphine, and I'll tell you everything I know. I'm not sure it's enough to stop the end of the world, though."

The Dragonborn remained silent; it was Lydia who finally spoke, her eyes glued to Volund's worried face.

"We'll find a way."

* * *

Author's note: Alduin's first line – "Sahloknir, your dragon soul is bound to me forever." Volund translates "Slen tiid vo" correctly – "let your flesh defy time." Sahloknir's first (interrupted) line is "Alduin, my lord. An age of time…" (in the game, he goes on to say "An age of time has passed since you broke the power of the ancient kings." The rest of that conversation wasn't really important to the story). His line during the battle is "Slippery little worm! Die many deaths!"

Other author's note: So, the Greybeards say that when you absorb a dragon's soul, you "can absorb a slain dragon's knowledge and life-force directly." While I'm not going to try to stretch this to mean that a dragon's soul will grant _all_ the shouts that dragon knew, or any of the dragon's specific memories or anything, I AM going to assume that any given dragon would have a fairly fluent grasp of their own language, and that this is the type of "knowledge" the Dragonborn can harvest. Once Volund absorbed his first dragon soul, he began to be able to comprehend the dragon language on a conversational level, though he still can't use the words as shouts without a) finding out, somehow, which words are combined in which order to make a given shout, and b) absorbing enough souls to power the shouts. That said, in my story, a single dragon soul will unlock all 3 words of a given shout, or as many of the words as Volund knows at the time. A really powerful dragon's soul might even unlock more than one whole shout. This is for two reasons. I think it makes sense, given that a shout is a single unified phrase. Also, I don't want to write (and you don't want to read) the 60+ dragon fights necessary to power all the shouts otherwise. Practically speaking, this all means that Volund will now know the full fire breath shout. He knows the three words and the order they are said because he just heard Sahloknir shout it at him; he knows what the words mean; Sahloknir's soul will unlock the full shout for him.

I feel that there's likely even more complexity to the process of absorbing dragon souls, but that can wait till later in the story.


	12. Chapter 12

"This may be the worst idea I have ever heard," Volund said through clenched teeth, "And I heard a man suggest painting pink flowers on a giant's mammoth."

"I'd very much like to hear how that worked out, my thane. This, however, will be fine," Lydia whispered. She adopted a false smile and waved casually at a party guest on their way to front door of the embassy.

"Two Nord commoners trying to fit in at a Thalmor diplomatic party? It would be easier to just attack the place head on. Might as well get someone to cast a frenzy spell on them first."

"Would you stop worrying? Our false names are on the guest list – actually on it, not just forged invitations. I don't want to imagine how Delphine managed this, but we have every right to be at the party."

"Yes, and the Thalmor have every right to get the – Hello, there, sir! – out of Skyrim," Volund grumbled around a greeting to another guest.

It improved Volund's mood somewhat that he was taller than the elven guard who met them at the door and checked them for weapons and names. Weapons were forbidden. To wear armor was not forbidden, but would be highly insulting to their hosts; bringing a housecarl would be doubly so. Volund, Lydia, and Delphine would all have been fine with insulting Thalmor, but it would have drawn attention they would rather avoid.

Thus it was that Lydia, unwilling to sit idle while Volund risked himself, found herself playing the part of love-struck mistress, wearing an elaborate, formal, and rather low-cut dress and clinging to the arm of the undercover Dragonborn. She would never have admitted how little acting she actually had to do to appear smitten, nor how refreshing it was to be able to simply relax her normally military posture and stoic public face, and instead simply display her affection.

Volund was secretly envious of the seeming ease with which Lydia took to the mannerisms of nobility. He had excellent manners for dealing with those in high places, but not for pretending to _be_ one. Luckily, as Delphine had patiently explained to him, silence and aloofness was a mannerism many noblemen displayed, and tension or nervous hesitancy to speak could be passed off as haughtiness with the right facial expressions.

"Be quiet and aloof," Delphine had said, "or, failing that, and if you've drawn attention to yourself, deflect it by subtly ogling your escort. It's the most natural thing in the world to see a nobleman do when he's got someone like this on his arm."

It didn't take much urging for Volund to agree to that plan. He had, in fact, practiced it quite a bit in the carriage ride on the way here. Seeing Lydia in an elegant, deep blue dress was a thing to behold. She had done her hair up quite fetchingly, with small blue mountain flowers woven into it. Her pale skin contrasted nicely with the dark dress, and no one could have worn it better.

Then it was time to focus, as the guard at the door asked for their names.

"Evandr of Riften; this beauty is Anya." Lydia smiled. The guard, seeing their aliases on the list, nodded.

As they passed the doors to the Thalmor embassy, Elenwen herself was nowhere to be seen – for which Volund was grateful. The guards, however, watched them closely.

"That's Jarl Elisif the Fair," Lydia whispered, ignoring the servants and guards. "I wonder if she'll be able to get the support she needs to become High Queen of Skyrim. And there's Jarl Siddgeir, and Jarl Idgrod."

"You know," said a dark-haired woman, "I could have sworn you said you were Evandr of Riften." She walked toward Volund boldly. The woman was clearly no longer in her youth, but she was not yet old, and she had an air of confidence about her – as well as arrogance.

"I find that very interesting," she went on, "because, you see, I'm from Riften. I keep a fairly close eye on what happens there, and I know for a fact that there is no Evandr of Riften. Your name may be on the list at the door, but it didn't get there from Riften."

"And who might you be, my lady?" Volund marveled at how well fear could be disguised as arrogance.

"Maven Black-briar. Perhaps you've heard of me. I would say at your service, but I'm not – I'm at my own service, and the Thalmor are good for my business. Tell me, no-name, why I shouldn't report you to them?"

Volund froze. Lydia, however, was as quick to rescue him here as she was in battle.

"Are dragons also good for your business, my lady?" she said conversationally.

Maven's gaze shifted from Volund to the woman on his arm.

"And what do dragons have to do with an imposter at a party?" she demanded.

"My friend here is… uniquely talented, shall we say?" Lydia explained. "He and I have been looking into the dragon matter, with some success."

His wits returning, Volund jumped into the conversation.

"You seem like a smart woman, my lady – and a well-informed one. Surely you know enough of the Thalmor to realize that dragon attacks on Skyrim will benefit only them. The Thalmor, certainly, have realized it."

Maven's eyes narrowed. Lydia picked up his chain of reasoning and pressed on.

"And what have you got to lose? If we find a connection, you get rid of the dragons and your treacherous 'allies.' And if, perchance, we were caught doing something the Thalmor did not quite… approve of, how does that affect you? After all," she hinted, "you didn't hear anything at the door, and when we spoke, we told you we were from Solitude."

"Now that you mention it, I believe you did," Maven said slowly. "If you find yourselves alive and well after your adventure here, and your road takes you to Riften, come see me. I think we may prove… useful to each other." The older woman nodded to the pair, and moved on.

Volund breathed again.

"Have I ever told you how amazing you are?" he asked Lydia. "Where did all this social savvy come from?"

She laughed, and very deliberately rested her head on his shoulder, looking up into his eyes. Her own blue orbs twinkled with mischief.

"To hear Irileth tell it, Skyrim politics are nothing compared to Morrowind's," she said. "You'd be surprised how much an attentive housecarl learns about the dealings of nobility, and Irileth made sure I learned a little bit of how things work."

"Lucky for me," Volund mused.

"Yes," she teased, "I am."

A huge crash sounded from one corner of the room, and every eye in the room looked to see what had happened. An extremely drunk partygoer had apparently lost his balance, knocking over a serving girl in the process, whose tray full of wine and other drinks had crashed to the floor. The wine itself, however, had ended up not on the floor, but instead almost entirely on Jarl Siddgeir. The man began to alternately wail about his clothing and rage at the drunk, the serving girl, the party, and everyone around him. Guards began to subtly edge toward the commotion.

The two adventurers, meanwhile, edged the other way, taking their chance to slip out a side door unseen. They began to move as silently as they could through the deserted sections of the vast network of buildings, looking for offices or other important rooms. They were about to round a corner when two guards opened a door at the end of the hallway, talking animatedly. Volund frantically motioned Lydia back around the corner.

Volund was about to enter a side room when Lydia stopped him. When he gave her a questioning look, she smirked, and pulled down the neck line of her dress a bit lower.

When the guards came around the corner, they found a Nord nobleman and his mistress passionately kissing in a secluded corner of the compound; the woman, whose dress was almost indecent, gave a soft little moan.

"You there! You savages aren't allowed back here. Find somewhere else to f-" He never finished his sentence. As he laid his hand on the woman's shoulder to separate the two, she rather unexpectedly punched him square in the jaw. The man leapt toward the other guard, tackling him to the floor and breaking his neck. Lydia did the same with her dazed opponent. In a remarkably quick, silent scuffle, both guards were dead in seconds.

Lydia pulled her dress back into its proper place.

"You shouldn't call refined, genteel ladies like me _savages_," she whispered to the bodies.

Volund laughed.

"Come on, _my lady_, we need to get moving."

They hid the bodies hastily, keeping the guards' weapons for their own use, and went on their way to pillage the elves' secrets.


	13. Chapter 13

"My thane, are you _sure_ about this?"

Volund sighed. "The worst part is, I'm not even sure which of my questionable decisions you're referring to."

"I was talking about the one where we put the worst person in Skyrim on the throne of Riften. Although now that you mention it, the sewers might not have been the best idea either," she said as she stepped around a pile of something that did not bear examining. "Ugh. At least if she does become jarl, we can rest assured that no city deserved her more than this one."

Riften stank, in every sense of the word. Even above the ratways, the sewage and stagnant water in the canals contributed an awful smell to the wooden city. Thugs and thieves acted openly in the streets, or gave halfhearted efforts to disguise their natures while approaching anyone who wandered by in an attempt to gain their gold, their fear, or their cooperation.

When they had first entered the city, a giant of a man had attempted to threaten them into submission. When Lydia threatened to beat him senseless if he didn't respect the Dragonborn, he immediately became apologetic and submissive. Lydia had been rather smug about it all for a brief time, until it became apparent he was acting not in fear of her but in fear of Maven – the powerful woman had told him to watch for her "new friends" and bring them to her.

Maven, who had in the meantime discovered exactly who these two partygoers actually were, was waiting for the pair outside her large manor. She was exceedingly polite and pleasant, but her words boiled down to one message.

She wanted the throne of Riften.

Many would say Maven already controlled the city, and the truth of that was apparent even in so short a time to Volund and Lydia. The woman had almost everyone in the city frightened to death of displeasing her, on her payroll, or both. The rumors that she worked with the Dark Brotherhood and outright controlled the Thieves' Guild only served to further strengthen the assertion – and deepen the visitors' dislike for her.

Maven's offers of gold, thaneship, housecarls and houses did little to entice Volund. However, Maven had made one other thing clear that Volund couldn't ignore.

She would support the Empire.

"All of my legitimate connections are in the Empire," she had said, "while all of my… less public connections are in Skyrim. If Skyrim becomes independent, I will lose half my power – one way or another. Obviously, I'm looking to avoid this."

The chance to deprive the Stormcloaks of a major port as well as the financial resources and troops that Riften offered was too good for Volund to pass up, even with the greater threat of dragons looming overhead, and he had agreed to the plan that Maven detailed. She told him that a 'friend' in the Ratways would help him with the first step of her plan, and with his previous purpose of locating Esbern.

After he and Lydia had left the company of Maven, still with misgivings about their bargain, they were approached by a woman in heavy armor. She was tall and blonde, with scars on her face that were covered by blue warpaint. On her back was a huge battleaxe.

"You are a newcomer to Riften, are you not?" she asked, her voice heavy with Nordic accent.

"I am; my name's Volund."

"Allow me, then, to warn you about that woman you were speaking to. She's the worst thing to ever happen to Riften, including when the whole city burned down sixty years ago."

"What's so bad about her?" Volund asked.

"Well, she's the most power-hungry individual I've ever had the misfortune to meet. She has powerful connections across the Empire, and she oppresses the city here with the Thieves' 'Guild' – though to call it a guild is ridiculous. If Maven didn't keep them in line, they'd turn on each other and the whole thing would collapse. And Maven's more corrupt than the whole lot of them. She'd do anything for a bribe or a favor, if it was a big enough one. Her children and grandchildren are murderers and worse." Mjoll spat on the ground in disgust.

Volund was silent, thinking for a moment.

"And who are you?" he finally asked. "What is your stake in all this?"

"I'm Mjoll, sometimes called Mjoll the Lioness. I used to be a traveler, but I've decided to stay here in Riften and be a sort of protector for the city – when I can. I try to keep the worst of the thugs, violence, and theft out of the streets, at least, but it's a struggle. I think the only reason Maven hasn't had me killed yet is that I haven't seriously hampered her progress!"

"Well, I wish you the best in your work as a protector of Riften. And believe me, I'll help in any way I can."

"You know, I think I might just like you," Mjoll said with a smile.

She and Volund shook hands, and Volund and Lydia resumed their trip toward the Ratways. Volund, however, took a detour on the way, stopping to write two hasty letters and send them with couriers, one toward Whiterun and one toward Solitude. When Lydia gave him a questioning look, he ducked his head.

"I'm about to break the rules, Lydia – do something dishonorable, for an honorable goal. Luckily for me, I know someone who specializes in that sort of thing." He would say nothing more about it, and the two had entered the Ratways.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

After killing numerous thugs and rats, avoiding rusty traps, navigating a hasty exchange of information with a representative of Maven's thieves, and descending into a deep maze of more filth, the traveling pair was ready to be done with the sewers. To their surprise, however, someone else had braved the same conditions they had. Thalmor agents, in armor or mage robes, were fanned out across the cisterns and sewer passageways, searching for the same man the Dragonborn was hoping to rescue.

A well-placed arrow from Volund, and a perfectly placed arrow from Lydia, killed two of the mages. Lydia had time to shoot again before the last remaining mage could get a proper ward up, and he fell to the ground, gurgling. The foot soldiers charged the two, but Volund was ready with his sword and shield. The first elf, he knocked off the edge of the walkway they were on; he fell two stories to break his neck on the stone floor. The second elf swung a mace at Volund's head, but had made his swing too horizontal. Volund simply ducked it and stabbed the Thalmor in the throat.

By this time, Lydia had her sword out and was advancing on the other elves who were rushing toward them. She killed two, and Volund one more; the last living elf turned to run away. With no time to retrieve his bow, a phrase rushed, unbidden, to Volund's memory.

"**YOL TOOR SHUL!**"

The stream of fire emanating from Volund's mouth was identical to that breathed by the dragons. It melted the armor and the flesh of the elf, and evaporated the moisture that clung to the walls and floor of the Ratways. When Volund finally stopped the fiery blast, steam rose from all around him. The burnt remains of the Thalmor smelled horrible.

Lydia was silent, though whether in awe, pity, or disgust, Volund didn't know. She held her nose as they walked past the body. They pressed on to find Esbern.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Five days later, Esbern was safe in Delphine's care, and Volund and Lydia were back in Riften. Maven's preparations for the coup were complete. The Thieves' Guild had forged incredibly convincing documents tying Jarl Laila Law-Giver to the Thalmor. Volund had generously supplied some Thalmor armor and weapons that had just happened to be lying around in the Ratway to further verify the evidence of Laila's corruption. Maven had assured that more than a few prominent members of the community, as well as the guard captain, had ample reasons to support her over Laila. Maven had called the town meeting, presented her evidence, and the city had rallied around her, condemning Laila. She was stripped of her post, and within a day, Maven sat on the throne. Her first act as jarl was to open the city and its outlying fortress to the Imperial Legion, which had a division standing by due to a previous communication from Maven.

As the troops marched into the city, Lydia commented almost glumly, "Well, we've given her the city."

"Just wait, Lydia," Volund said with a smile. He had just seen General Tullius riding at the head of the troops.

Maven had seen him, as well, and seemed rather surprised.

"General Tullius! It's a rare pleasure to see you here in…"

Tullius interrupted her. "Maven Black-Briar, for the crimes of bribery, theft, assassination, corruption, and treason against the Empire, you are hereby relieved of your title as Jarl of Riften and placed under arrest."

Maven sputtered for nearly twenty seconds before finding words. "General, I assure you I have never done such things. Have you any proof or evidence of these accusations?"

In response, Tullius held up a sheaf of letters. "These letters, obtained through various means, each bore your personal seal. They were opened in the presence of no fewer than ten Imperial officers, and each one alone would be enough to put you in jail."

"I never wrote those! I've never seen those!" Maven shrieked. The guards ignored her, and carried her off to a waiting wagon outside the city. Tullius sighed heavily, then looked around.

"Is there a Lady Mjoll present?" he shouted.

"Here, my lord," she said, shouldering her way through the crowd with a confused look on her face.

"Lady Mjoll, also called Mjoll the Lioness, you are hereby appointed to be rightful Jarl of Riften, with all the responsibilities, powers, and privileges which follow, and with the full support of the Imperial Legion. Do you accept this appointment?"

"Y-yes, my lord," she said.

Tullius nodded. "Legionnaires, see it done and the city secure." The general then rode over to Volund. "You did well. When your letter said you had a gift for me, I didn't even think it worth my time, but Rikke vouched for you. Said you didn't do trivial things. I never thought your gift would be an entire hold – and Maven Black-Briar. I've wanted to see her fall for years, but she's never left any evidence behind. How did you manage to get so much?"

"Well, General, the Dragonborn has his ways."

"Hardly reassuring, but I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, now should I? At any rate, well done."

"Thank you, sir. Will she be able to get out of jail with her connections?"

Tullius laughed humorlessly. "Only the Emperor himself can give me orders, son, and he couldn't care two hoots about Maven Black-Briar. Trust me, either her head will roll, or she'll be looking at the same four walls until the day she dies of age."

Volund nodded, and the general took his leave. The Dragonborn, with a confused Lydia close on his heels, then walked over to congratulate the new Jarl.

"I hope your job will be easier now," he said to the tall blonde woman.

"I should think so!" she replied. "Somehow I get the feeling you had something to do with this?"

"Let's just say that I'll help however I can," Volund replied. "Good luck, protector of Riften – you're official now."

Mjoll nodded, still overwhelmed, and began to make her way toward the palace. Volund motioned Lydia into the Bee and Barb tavern behind him. They took a table along the wall, and Volund ordered a glass of mead for each of them.

"Ok, how did you do it, my thane?" Lydia's curiosity could be contained no longer.

"Taking all the credit for yourself, boy?" said a low female voice behind Lydia. The housecarl jumped, and turned around to see a dark elf.

"Jenassa, whatever are you doing in Riften?" Volund asked with a large grin.

"Cleaning house, apparently," she replied. "Your father would have loved to see what you managed here. He hated this city and Maven above all else. We had a few job offers in the Rift which he flat out refused." She paused, and looked at Lydia meaningfully. "I think I see something else you've done which your father would be proud of."

Volund's face got red.

"Jenassa, this is Lydia, Lydia, Jenassa. She worked with my father as a mercenary, and showed me some tricks in fighting. And Lydia is my housecarl…"

"… and bedmate," the dark elf finished. "Not sure what you're embarrassed about, boy, she's quite a beauty, and seems rather devoted to you as well. Then again, you Nords have always been a bit squeamish talking about sex."

Lydia's mouth hung open, while Volund attempted to regain his composure.

"How did you know?" was all he eventually managed. Jenassa just laughed at him.

"It's not hard to see when you pay attention, boy. For your sake, it's a good thing you learned my lessons on swordsmanship better than you learned my lessons on life. Keep your eyes open! It may prove useful."

The dark elf took Volund's forgotten drink, downed it, and walked out of the inn. Lydia glared daggers at Volund. He smiled weakly.

"An old friend of my father's," he said. "She happens to be quite good at things like forging letters and stealing signet rings."

"And announcing your sexual habits to the world," Lydia muttered, taking a long drink of mead.


	14. Chapter 14

Lydia balanced on one foot, shivering in her thin cotton shirt. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on her brow. She was intensely aware that each breath might be her last. Her armor, discarded to increase her ability to balance, lay in a pile beside Delphine, Esbern, and the extremely unhappy Volund.

It was toward her that Volund's anger was directed. Even though it was for his own sake that she was doing this, it still stung that, for the first time since she had known him, he was well and truly angry and it was because of her. She tried to put it out of her mind; the fewer distractions she had right now, the better.

She saw the next tile marked with the increasingly-familiar symbol which Esbern insisted was Akaviri for "Dragonborn." The tile was perhaps five feet away from the one she currently balanced on. Each was only about a foot square, and in between were other tiles with other symbols. Each of these, if pressed down by the weight of a human being, would set off a rather fantastic – and deadly – series of traps.

When it became clear that the only way forward was for someone to jump from tile to tile, avoiding all but the "Dragonborn" plates, Volund had been about to start in on the task at once, but Esbern and Lydia had physically stopped him.

"If you die, Dragonborn, the world is doomed," Esbern had droned in his rasping voice. "It is folly to risk your life on mundane traps."

"He's right, my thane. And even if you weren't Dragonborn, it's still my duty to stand between you and any threats to your life. I can't save you if you're out there and the traps go off."

Volund had laughed then, though it wasn't with humor.

"A Dragonborn who's afraid of any little thing that might kill him isn't going to do much good against dragons, now is he?"

Esbern had frowned. "That is different. Of course you must fight the dragons; you're the only one who can. But anyone can do this."

Volund had argued the point until Lydia, increasingly frustrated, stripped off her metal plates and leapt to the first Dragonborn block. Volund had yelled, had ordered her back, had been about to follow her out there before Esbern summoned a frost atronach and had it restrain the Dragonborn. Finally, he had calmed down enough to watch Lydia's progress.

She had already made it two-thirds of the way across the trapped area, but all it would take would be one fall, one slip, or one missed jump to end her life. She made the next leap, landed shakily, then steadied herself. She looked back at Volund briefly, and saw that he looked ready to yell again.

Then she realized that he wasn't ready to yell, he was ready to Shout. He was going to intervene if it looked like she would fall, but she wasn't sure if he would try to use Unrelenting Force or Whirlwind Sprint to save her. If he used the latter, they would probably both die instead of just her. Just one more reason she would have to succeed. She shook her head and made the next jump.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

After she had pulled the lever to disarm the trap, Volund sprinted across the plates. He hit her in what was half hug, half full-body tackle. They hit the wall behind Lydia fairly hard, and she grunted as air was forced out of her lungs.

"You don't get to do that," Volund growled.

"What," she gasped, "disobey you?"

"No," he said. "Die. You're not allowed to die."

Esbern and Delphine were polite enough to pretend that they didn't see the desperate kiss that followed.

* * *

Author's note: Sorry for the lack of updates this week, everyone. This is NOT on hiatus, I have NOT given up on it, this has simply been an extremely demanding week IRL. I'll return to regular updates as soon as I can!


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